


black water lilies

by spearbi



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, Magic, Pirates, Polyamory, Sirens, aristrocrat! jisung, longfic, slowburn, wheeee, wordbuilding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2020-02-28 14:57:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 28,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18758737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spearbi/pseuds/spearbi
Summary: wealthy, aristocratic jisung lives in a cage: a pretty, gilded one, yes, but a cage all the same. jisung wants to see the world more than anything else, but he’s spent all twenty years of his life under the same ceilings, the same sky, the same stars.he doesn't know it yet, but he's going to get much,muchmore than he bargained for.





	1. shorelines

**Author's Note:**

> yooo this is gonna be a long fic! i'll update twice a month (but probably whenever i want ), kudos n comments definitely spark my motivation ;o there are like no 3RACHA fics so here i am. taking one for the team. 
> 
> this au will have au-typical violence, consider urself warned babey
> 
> ( if u wanna talk im on twt @MlR0H! )
> 
> ( song title is same as fic title, by aurora )

There’s something wild in the eastern air. 

The fisherman can feel it in the ferocity of the normally placid waves as they pull up their nets and cages from the ocean floor, and the farmers see it in the unseasonable layer of frost that dusts their plants. 

Malagea’s seer wakes from her sleep abruptly, her veiny hands reaching out for something she cannot touch.

“Mother!” her daughter exclaims, opening the window and letting the wet air rush inwards, “What ails you?” 

The cobbler’s son looks up from the street below and shuffles closer to the building to hear the conversation. He has a pair of new shoes in one hand, a fritter in the other: a secret snack before his father puts him to work. 

“An omen,” says Malagea’s seer, milky eyes looking westward. “It’s an omen. Of death or of life, I do not know which. But there is something large on the horizon.” 

The cobbler's son, an innocent eavesdropper, drops the shoes his father had given him and runs with the wind at his back, pausing only to tell his friend about the seer’s premonition. The florist’s daughter whispers the words to the customers like a prayer. The baker kneads the gossip into the sticky dough. 

Across the island of Malagea, the rumors begin to spread. 

“I heard that it's the Northern Emperor, bringing her fleets right by us to attack the Capitol.” 

“The Northern Emperor? Why on earth would she take such a detour?” 

“That’s _horse_ shit. It’s the Wolf.” 

“The Wolf?” 

“Surely not- wasn’t he defeated by the Hawk?” 

“I cannot say for sure. I pray to the gods that it’s not him.” 

One word, spreading through the city like wildfire, like ants up a bajobo tree: _pirates._

Pirates. 

Every single person, save for the infants and the senile, know of these monsters. If legend are to be believed, they’re more animal than human, having lost their humanity long ago to the promise of riches and fortune. They pillage and plunder and steal wives and children and sturdy young men. The people they take never return. 

Up on the hill overlooking Malagea, this word has not reached those reside in the palace there. The nobles and servants and gardeners are all blissfully, perfectly unaware. 

On the third story, the doors open to the terrace facing the west. A boy- a man, technically, but a boy at heart- pushes open the golden doors to a grey, unusually humid day. 

Jisung feels the shift in atmosphere as he steps out of his bedroom and onto the terrace, still half asleep. The view is the same- the gardens, lush and green, with the servants attending to them- but there’s a current of _something_ permeating the palace, and it burrows deep under Jisung’s skin. 

He eyes the thunderclouds forming in the west, black and thick, and shivers. 

Storms rarely touch Malagea, but when they do, they are formidable. 

A small ringale hops up onto the creamy marble of the balcony, red-tipped wings fluttering apprehensively. 

Jisung smiles at it, making sure to keep his body still, and watches as the little bird pulls off the shiny purple berries that hang low over the terrace. 

_What I would give to fly like you_. 

“Milord!” 

The bird shoots away from the balcony, startled.

Jisung turns away from the impressive view. “I’ve told you a hundred times to call me by my first name, Johan. I’m no lord- not yet, anyways, and I doubt I’ll be wanting to be called that even when I am.” 

“You are the strangest employer I have ever met.” Johan sighs and drags a hand over his black curls. “Please come back inside, m- _Jisung_. There’s a storm brewing out west, and I don’t want you catching a cold before the ball tonight.” 

“The ball,” Jisung echoes, stepping back inside and shutting the gilded glass doors behind him. “I wasn’t aware that there was to be one tonight.” 

Johan looks off to the side, expression uneasy. “Your mother planned it.” 

Jisung twitches. _Another one of her games_. “She’s set up more greasy aristocrats to try and court me, I assume.” 

The servant gives him a sympathetic look, barely visible over the piles of cloth in his arms. “I apologize, milord. Lady Han is a cunning woman, and had I told you of her plans, she would have had me fired immediately.” 

Johan hands Jisung his underclothes, all white silk. “She is aware that we are friends.” 

“Of course she does. That snake has eyes inside the walls themselves.” Jisung grumbles under his breath as he pulls the underclothes on. Johan looks away politely.

“Would it be acceptable for me to go down to the beach today?” 

“With the weather being as it is, any sane person would advise against it.” Johan smiles up at him impishly. “But if I were you, I’d take advantage of the empty beaches.” 

“I think I may do just that, so long as my mother doesn’t catch me on my way out.” 

Jisung pulls on the long blue _saal_. It’s heavy, fine cloth embroidered with delicate twinedal flowers and roaring mountain bears: the symbols of the Han family. It’s a tunic fit for a noble, and that’s what he is. 

He doesn’t feel noble, though- no more or less noble than Johan standing next to him, or Cook in the kitchens. It’s his birthright; a fate that he was born into, an easy life of milk and honey spoon-fed straight to his lips. 

Secretly, he detests it. Any person in Malagea would be overjoyed to live like he does, to grow up in a palace of marble and gold- but _gods_ , does Jisung loathe this lifestyle with every fibre of his being. 

He lives in a cage: pretty and gilded, yes, but a cage all the same. Jisung wants to see the world more than anything else, but he’s spent all twenty years of his life under the same ceilings, the same sky, the same stars. How is it possible for him to feel so claustrophobic under such open skies? 

Johan places a slim golden coronet on his head ( gold, always gold ) and carefully slides the heavy rings onto Jisung’s fingers. Jisung doesn’t mind the rings so much- he likes the way they look on his slim hands, likes the way the light catches the emeralds and rubies inlaid in their metal. 

“There you go,” Johan says quietly, squeezing Jisung’s shoulder. “You’re all good to go. Depart from the kitchen- I’ll distract milady while you go.” 

“Thank you,” Jisung replies, and he _means_ it. “I don’t think I’d have made it this far without you.” 

Johan smiles and waves him off, eyes a little sad. _Because he’s the same as me_ , Jisung thinks, walking briskly down the reflective corridors.

_A different bird in a different cage_. 

The servants bow and curtsy to him as he passes by, gazes lowered. His mother has made them fear nobility. 

( He hates his mother. ) 

He sneaks through the kitchen, ducking around crates of vegetables and servants cooking food on stoves and in woks.

“Jisung!” Chef bellows, his large, rotund frame visible even through the thick steam hissing out of the fryers. “Come here, boy!” 

Jisung laughs at the man’s good nature and thick, foreign accent and sidles his way over. “Good morning!” 

Chef nods, wiping away a thin sheen of sweat from his tattooed forehead. “We’ve been up since the crack of dawn preparing for the ball tonight. You better work up an appetite.” 

The man scans Jisung with a critical eye. “You need to eat more. Much more. You are too skinny.” 

Jisung accepts the strudel the cook presses into his hands gratefully, and with a swat on the shoulder and a laugh, he’s back on his way. He has good memories of the kitchen, and of the people in it. 

As a child, he’d spent his days learning from the cooks how to make fluffy, sweet loaves of _bamsul_ , while a much thinner Chef showed him how to wrap dumplings perfectly. Lady Han had intervened once Jisung had turned eleven or twelve, insisting that it was beneath a young nobleman to interact and act among the working class. 

Sometimes, when Jisung is in the mood for rebellion, he’ll creep down to the kitchens around midnight and bake himself some _bamsu_ l and eat the whole thing with a thick layer of cherry jam. 

He bites into the sugar-dusted strudel, humming a little as peach and cinnamon explode in his mouth.  
Nobody can cook quite like Chef; that’s why his mother hired the Southern man despite his tattoos and boisterous personality. The strudel disappears quickly, leaving Jisung’s mouth watering for another. 

_I’ll just have to grab another when I get back_. 

Outside, the grass is tall and damp; it leaves wet spots on the loose fabric of his trousers and the tops of his boots. Jisung nods his head at the gardeners crouched next to the white roses and the purple twinedal flowers. They nod back- he’s a familiar face, someone who spends his free time in the gardens with his drawing pad and pencils. 

_What a strange, flighty boy_ , they whisper behind his back. _He doesn’t belong in this world_. 

They’re right. Jisung makes his way to the garden wall- even that is pristine- and feels around for the smooth wooden board he’d used to cover up the narrow hole in the bricks there. And- there, behind a colourful patch of hydrangeas. 

“Hello,” Jisung breathes, a little bubble of excitement forming in his chest, “It’s me again.” 

The hole in the wall can’t respond, obviously, but if it could, Jisung imagines if would welcome him like an old friend. He carefully pulls of his coronet and rings, tucking them carefully underneath the hydrangea bush before pulling himself through the hole. 

He grunts as he hits the dirt, wincing as his _saal_ catches on a loose brick and tears. _Mother is going to have my head for that._

Oh, but he’s _outside_ now, outside the walls and the towers. All that he can see is the jagged, rocky bluffs, and the sheer salty drop to the waves below. Jisung takes in a deep, brine-slick breath and listens to the gulls cry overhead.

He takes one last glance at the tower of stone and glass before running towards the bluff. There’s a loose dirt path snaking down to the beach below, steep and rocky, and Jisung laughs out loud to himself as he skitters down the slope, the sound of the waves heavy in his ears. 

The ocean- he loves the ocean. If he were able to, he’d watch the waves all day, watch the tide kiss the fine white sand on the shore. There’s a lot of things that Jisung would like to do if he weren’t a noble. 

_“No more drawing for you,” Lady Han says coldly, wrenching the drawing pad from Jisung’s little hands. “It is not befitting for a man to pursue such feminine crafts_.” 

_“Mother,” Jisung hiccups, “Please_ -,” 

_But the sketchbook is thrown into the fireplace anyways, all of Jisung’s hard work crumbling into fine ash before him_. 

_Lady Han crouches down and cups Jisung’s chin in her palm. “Listen to me, Jisung. People like us do not cry. Little boys do not cry, if they wish to become men. Do you understand?_ ” 

“ _Yes,” Jisung whispers, biting on his lower lip to keep it from wobbling, “I understand_.” 

Point is, Jisung has a lot of things he’ll probably never be able to do. He walks towards the water, shivering a little at the wind that bites through his clothing, and stands with his feet at the tideline, watching the tide pools intently. 

It’s almost as though they’re miniature worlds: small, silvery fish dart in and out of the waving sea anemones, and a green-tinted crab scuttles out from under a rock to greet Jisung. 

There’s a loud noise- thunder, probably- and Jisung glances westward, heart dropping a little in his chest. The black storm clouds have thickened; they’re much closer to Malagea than they had been ten minutes previously. 

Jisung eyes the thunderhead with some trepidation, but forgets about it almost immediately as something flickers in his peripheral vision. 

Jisung spins. “Oh, hello,” He says, trying to mimic the thick lilting accent of the city people. It’s not likely to work; he’s wearing his _saal_ and that’s a dead giveaway to most people on the island. 

There’s another person on the beach. It’s a boyish looking man- about Jisung’s age- and he’s sitting about fifteen feet away from Jisung, feet bare and buried in the sand. 

“Greetings!” the man says cheerfully. “I wasn’t expecting other people to be here on a day like this.” 

“Nor was I,” Jisung replies, smiling a little. He’s quietly thankful that he left his valuables behind. “I’m Ji- Johan.” 

A little smile pulls at the corner of the man’s mouth. He has a delicate, almost pretty face- it makes the deep boulder-rumble of his voice all the more shocking.

“I’m Felix. I’m… visiting.” 

“You’ve picked quite the time to visit,” Jisung laughs, scooting closer to the man. He- Felix- is dressed oddly, in trousers and fine leather. _He must be a foreigner_. “I haven’t seen a storm this bad in a very long time.” 

Felix watches the purple-black clouds roll in, a strange little smile on his face. “I see them a little more often. They blow over quickly.”

“That’s good,” Jisung says, allowing the words to slip carelessly out of his mouth without much thought. “There’s a ball going on at the palace tonight- it would be such a shame for the food to get ruined. It’s outdoors, you see.” 

“Ah,” Felix murmurs, a glint of something sharp and clever in his gaze. “That truly would be a shame.”

As if on cue, the heavens open up. Fat, heavy raindrops fall fast and aggressively, stinging Jisung’s arms and shoulders. 

_Mother will have my head if I return looking like a drowned rat_. 

Jisung stands up abruptly, dusting wet sand off of his trousers and _saal_. “I need to go- my, er, paintings are drying outside and the water will ruin them.” 

It’s a weak excuse, but the strange man seems to believe it. 

Felix nods like a cat, liquid and lazy. He doesn’t seem to mind the rainfall or the strong gusts of wind buffeting against him. 

“Take care, Johan. Storms like these bring in all kinds of strange creatures.”

“Thank you,” Jisung murmurs, and with a little wave he leaves the stranger behind, making sure to go a different path back up the cliffs. As nice as Felix seems to be, Jisung isn’t in the mood for having potential thieves find the hole in the garden wall. 

The storm is almost on top of him, now- the wind buffets Jisung’s body as he slides back into the palace gardens and shoves the wooden board back across the hole. 

After shoving his coronet and rings on, he runs back through the gardens, wiping rainwater off of his face with the sleeve of his _saal_. 

Johan is waiting for him at the kitchen entrance- and so is Lady Han, her expression darker than the storm outside. Her makeup is perfect, lips lined ruby red and hair braided intricately. Jisung coughs nervously and pushes his sopping bangs out of his face.

“Hello, mother. Lovely weather we’re having today, don’t you think?” 

Two of his mother’s servants titter nervously, hands covering their mouths. Lady Han shoots them a look strong enough to wilt fresh flowers, and they fall silent, gazes downcast. 

“Did your servant not inform you of the ball that you’ll be attending tonight?” 

“Yes, _Johan_ told informed me that you’re setting it up in another attempt to getting me married off,” Jisung replies icily, voice flat and even. “It’s not going to work. These aristocrats are all buffoons, and their makeup is garish.” 

“If you do not get married to one of these nobles from the Greater Islands, you will have no future. There is no future for this family on Malagea.” Desperation lies behind the mask of makeup on his mother’s face- not desperation for the future of her son, but hunger for the promise of secure wealth and fortune. 

“Then _you_ get married, mother. I have no interest in becoming a figurehead with no freedom to speak my mind.” 

Jisung pushes past her, wet sandals squeaking on the stone floor. Johan hesitates before following closely behind.

“Jisung,” Lady Han calls, her tone dangerously calm, “You will find a bride or groom tonight. There are no other options for us here.” 

There must be something, Jisung thinks, wringing the water out of his hair as he walks. _There must be some other way_. 

“Milord- Jisung-,” Johan says softly, almost trotting to keep up with Jisung’s fast pace, “I am sorry. I stalled her for as long as I could, but she suspected that something was amiss.” 

Jisung sighs. “It’s not your fault. A snake is a snake, and not even you can change that.” 

Johan snickers and casts a careful look backwards, hissing through his teeth as his gaze meets Lady Han’s. 

“That woman is more terrifying than any storm I’ve seen.” 

“Tell me about it,” Jisung mutters, and pulls his saal up over his shoulders and head, stripping himself almost bare. Despite the lamps along the corridor it’s unseasonably chilly; the cold air makes Jisung’s skin prickle with gooseflesh. Johan hovers outside the door. 

“You’re not coming in?” 

“Your mother is sending her ladies over to get you ready for tonight,” Johan says apologetically. “She made it clear what would happen if I were to interfere.” 

Jisung waves a hand. “It’s fine. Please go and take the rest of the day for yourself. I’ll see you tonight- you may have to fend off visiting aristocrats with a sword for me.” 

Johan grins and dips his head. “Yes, Milord.” 

“It’s Ji _sung_ ,” Jisung chides, fully aware that he’s fighting a losing battle. “Now go. I need to get my face beaten.”

»»————-　♔　————-««

His mother’s ladies do beat his face- and the rest of him, for that matter. The bath is his least favorite part- all these years later and he still doesn’t like having people scrub his back for him. It makes him feel like an infant, or a child’s doll. 

The head maid, Rujin, pours lavender and rose scented oils into the bathwater and rubs honey and grass-scented soap into Jisung’s hair, making sure to rub it in with slow, deliberate movements. 

The other maids scurry around his chamber, laying out dress robes and jewelry. 

One pulls out a _chunul_ \- a black cube filled with powders and rogue. Jisung winces as Rujin’s methodical fingers snag a knot in his hair. 

“Hold still,” She chides. “My fingers are no longer as steady; I’m old and frail. You’re going to give me a stroke.” 

“You’re not that old,” Jisung replies, eyes fluttering shut. “You’re only a few cycles older than my mother, are you not?” 

He can feel Rujin smile. “Yes, but my Lady Han looks much younger than her age.” 

“Only physically. Mentally she has all the mind and bitterness of an old, wrinkly man.” 

The maid setting up the _chunul_ lets out a shocked laugh before clapping a hand over her mouth, eyes dancing. She doesn’t look like she’s from the belt of eastern islands- her skin is a glowing chocolate brown, and her hair is thick and curly, pulled back into twin braids. A smattering of freckles dot her face. 

Jisung looks at her with more interest. “Are you new?” He asks. “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.” 

The maid dips her head, gaze fixed on the floor. She has a kind, open face. “I am new, milord. I started just a few nights ago.”

Jisung hums sympathetically. “Best of luck to you, then. The gods know my mother is anything but easy to work with.” 

Rujin clucks her tongue. “Now, let’s not be too unkind. Lady Han works very hard to keep Malagea afloat.” 

Jisung sighs and chooses not to respond. He clambers out of the bath, and, after drying himself off with a thick, brown towel, allows the older woman to brush a paste of oils and pigment on his cheeks with a small brush, setting the foundation for many layers of powder. 

He’s dressed, next. First to go on are a set of silken white under-robes, a tight fitting red dress _saal_ embroidered with beautifully rendered singing birds and flowers, and then finally a heavy leather belt with gleaming gold buckles. 

Gold, ruby encrusted earrings are pushed into his earlobes, and two heavy necklaces are placed around his neck. His silver rings are removed and replaced with ones of onyx and copper, and a heavy, filigreed crown replaces the silver coronet on his head.

The end result is beautiful, but Jisung can’t help but feel as though it’s tacky as well. 

The _chunul_ maid brushes powders onto his face and eyelids in soft, swirling motions with an assortment of brushes. Jisung makes a face as she drags a thick, red balm across his lower lip, and she laughs quietly under her breath. 

He takes note of the fact that her fingers are calloused and weathered, unlike the rest of the maids, and files that information away. 

“Why are you really here?” He asks softly, cracking open an eye when the brush stills on his lower lip. Her eyes widen for one split second before settling into a feigned expression of confusion. “Milord?” 

Jisung sighs. “You’re nervous, you have the hands of a fighter, and you are _terrible_ at applying makeup- why are you here?” 

The maid looks down at him appraisingly. “To-to provide a source income for my family,” she says finally, resuming the application of his lip tint, eyes focused. “This was my only choice. I’m sorry.” 

There’s a lengthy stretch of silence between them. 

“Don’t be,” Jisung says finally. “I apologize for prying. What’s your name?” 

The corners of the maid’s mouth curl up. “Eshe, milord.” She pulls the brush away, motioning for Jisung to rub his lips together. He complies.

“Well, Eshe, it’s nice to meet you. I hope you’ll forgive me for my outburst.” 

Eshe smiles and dips her head. “Already done, milord.” 

Jisung opens his mouth to continue speaking, but is cut off by Rujin stepping forward to spray sandalwood perfume onto his robes and neck. The older woman steps back and squints at him as though he’s a very old and particularly puzzling piece of art. 

Jisung gives a little twirl, enjoying how the light, filmy fabric flares out behind him. “Am I adequate?” 

Rujin smiles, the crow lines around her eyes deepening. “More than that, milord. You make my job easy.” 

The maids pack up their things and usher him gently out of his room. Jisung catches a quick, fragmented glimpse of himself in the oval mirror beside the door and freezes. 

He barely recognizes himself- the person he sees is almost doll-like, their eyes sparkling and mouth a glossy cherry red. It scares him. 

_You’re nothing more than a cut of meat for the wolves to devour_ , the stranger’s eyes seem to say. Jisung swallows and tears his gaze away, nearly stumbling on a loose stone in the entryway. 

Eshe grabs his shoulder to steady him, smelling of cinnamon and sun. 

“Are you well, milord?” 

Jisung shakes his head. “I’m fine. There’s just a lot of material for me to trip on.”

He’s cold. Despite the heavy layers of fabric, Jisung still feels so, so cold.

 

»»————-　♔　————-««

 

There’s a definite chill to the air outside; Jisung gets a wicked little tug of satisfaction knowing that all his mother’s work is going to get waterlogged; he anticipates seeing the ladies and lords melt into their gaudy, frilly clothing like undercooked pastries.

The light dance of string instruments floats through the corridor, followed by the rustle and crackle of many voices, barely audible over the howling of the wind. 

Tonight, it seems, will be pleasant for nobody. 

At some point in time, Jisung had enjoyed the balls- loved them, even. They had just seemed so magical, with their fairy lamps and nimble-fingered musicians. That was before he’d realized that the entire point of these balls was to sell him off to some wizened magnate twice his age. 

Now he just grins and bears it. The conversations taper off and then ceases as he walks out the double doors to the expansive courtyard. There’s more people than usual- _mother must be particularly desperate tonight_. 

Jisung forces out a greeting and a bow as the crowd presses forward to greet him, eyes hungry and hands wandering. 

Some faces he recognizes from years of repeated rejections and advances, while others are completely foreign. There are affluent people from all corners of the earth- East, North, South- but nobody from the west. It’s just as well, perhaps- tensions between the figureheads of the North and the West have been tense as of late, mostly due to the high rates of piracy stemming from the Westlands. 

At the very least, the different types of clothing are pleasing to look at- the furs and and dark clothing from the North, the bright, swirling dresses and skirts of the South, and Jisung’s own saal and soft, light slippers. 

Courtesans push food and cups of strong dark wine into his hands; giggling aristocrats ask him time and time again to come dance with them while their parents watch, faces expressionless. 

Jisung declines each time. _Where is Johan when you need him_?

He drinks wine to pass the time; it fills his head with bubbles and makes him smile more pleasantly at the people around him. Johan comes up to him at some point and gently removes his glass from his hand with a sympathetic look. 

Jisung pretends to listen as an Eastern woman well into her thirties prattles on about the positive influence her rug business could bring his family- _who cares about your blasted rugs_ , he wants to snap, but his mother is there, patching up the holes Jisung leaves behind with a sickly sweet smile.

He talks and forces laughter and dances under the covered gazebo with sweaty-fisted men and woman and loathes absolutely every second of it.

Time stretches out long and thin; Jisung holds back a yawn behind his hand. It’s only when it begins to rain sideways that the throng of people around him thins out.

Several suitors from the South to nervously back away and take cover under the back patio, unused to the weather. Jisung sighs and excuses himself from the grip of a Northern lord twice his age and pushes his way through to the back of the courtyard. 

The courtyard is wide and open, bordered on three sides by shrubbery and flowers while the fourth remains open and overlooking the western seas. Jisung steps up to the low wall overlooking the cliffs and the endless expanse of ocean ahead. 

The rain hits his face, sharp and stinging like tiny needles, but Jisung doesn’t mind it, doesn’t even blink against the force behind it.

The waves below churn and break against the black, dark rocks below with the kind of fury that only a true storm could bring. 

His mother appears seemingly out of thin air to stand beside him, her smile wide and painted on. 

“You should be talking to the guests.”

Jisung sighs. “The guests are hiding inside because you chose to plan an outdoor ball in the middle of a storm, mother.”

“An oversight on my part, perhaps.” She pushes a loose coil of hair behind her ear, only to have the wind push it right back out. “Have you met anyone that suits your fancy? The Southern sultan’s daughter has quite the dowry on her head, and the Northern queen’s son has a respectable amount of land.”

“Mother, I’ve told you this before and I’ll say it again- I’m not interested in being pawned off to somebody I don’t love. This ball is just another waste of your money.” 

Lady Han’s fingers snake out to bite at his bicep. Jisung looks down at her, startled by the black fury in her eyes. Thunder breaks overhead with the force of a thousand rolling drums.

“Listen, _boy_ ,” She hisses, her breath hot and smelling of wine, “I don’t care if you don’t want to get married for love. Maybe if you were a second son it would be more realistic-but you’re _not_. You’re the firstborn; getting married is your duty to fulfill- it is your _birthright_.”

Jisung swallows around the cold lump in his throat, his arm throbbing faintly from where his mother still has her nails dug in. She takes a deep breath before continuing. 

“By dragging this immature little tantrum on, you are being _selfish_ , Jisung. You’re bringing shame to our family name, because our motto is-,”

“Flock before flight,” Jisung replies dully, wrenching his arm out of her grip. “I know. You never let me forget it.” 

He lets out a shaky laugh and takes a couple stumbling steps away from her, feet slipping against the wet grass. Jisung’s head spins- from the wine and something bone deep and achingly tired. He just wants some _distance_ , he wants some space away from his mother, some space away from this choking, oppressive atmosphere. 

Lady Han steps forward, expression twisted, like she doesn’t know whether to be mad or concerned. “Jisung- The cliff-,” 

She stops speaking abruptly, and it takes Jisung a long moment to process why. His gaze travels from her wide eyes, to the bubble of blood forming at the corner of her mouth, and then finally to the beautiful plume of glossy black feathers sprouting from her breast. 

Jisung stares at the arrow embedded in his mother’s chest, frozen. Lightning strikes the beach below, filling the air with the smell of static and ozone. Behind him, somebody screams. 

“What-,” 

Lady Han coughs. “Run,” She croaks, raising a trembling hand to her chest. She says something after that, soft and quiet and barely audible over the sound of the storm overhead.

Jisung leans forward and grips her shoulder, fingers numb. 

“What did you say?” He whispers, hysteria lacing his voice. She coughs once, twice, sending flecks of blood flying onto Jisung’s dress _saal_. 

“ _Pirates_.” 

Slowly, Jisung turns to look at the courtyard behind him. It’s chaos. Aristocrats run like lost lambs, screaming as black-tipped arrows fly from seemingly nowhere to embed themselves in chests, arms, and legs.

A plume of flame licks up the wooden column of the patio. 

Glass shatters.

He hears his mother’s voice as if from underwater or very far away. “Jisung, _run_!”

And so he does, ducking errant arrows and pumping his arms and legs. The palace is his best advantage; he knows every nook and cranny inside that building like the back of his hand. 

Somebody shouts something in a rough, unfamiliar language, and it causes terror to spike in Jisung’s chest, encourages him to run even faster towards the old oak tree. 

Pirates. Never in a million years would he have thought pirates would attack Malagea. _Is it just the palace, or the whole city that they’re targeting?_

He reaches the oak tree and grabs the lowest branch with both hands. It takes him a few tries to climb up, robes hindering his movements and hands slippery against the wet bark, but he finally clambers up the tree as he used to so often as a child. 

Halfway up the tree, Jisung pauses. From this height and angle, the city of Malagea is visible, lit up in glowing reds and yellows. _It’s on fire_ . 

The city- _his_ city, all crumbling down into ash and charred wood. 

He doesn’t realize that he’s crying until he taste the salt on his lips, mixed in with the rain. 

_Don’t think about it. Not now. Keep moving_ . 

The maids always keep the bathroom window on the second floor slightly ajar; hopefully Jisung will be able to slide through. Teeth gritted, he slides out onto the narrow branch, fingers trembling.

_If I fall now, I’m as good as dead_ . 

The branch shakes and bends under his weight as he approaches the side of the palace- and praise the _gods_ , the window is cracked slightly open- unaccustomed to the weight of a fully grown man. 

A chorus of screams erupt from the courtyard behind him, and Jisung flinches, nearly unseating himself from the branch. _Hurry up_ .

It takes two long, agonizing tries, but finally the window slides up and open for Jisung’s wet fingers. He looks down, looks ahead, and launches himself through the window, his outer robes catching and ripping on the windowsill. 

He tumbles onto the cold floor of the bathroom, and vomits, missing the toilet bowl by a few scant centimetres. His whole body shakes from a heady mixture of fear and adrenaline, his uneven breathing loud in the silence. 

Pirates, in Malagea... Jisung had known that things had been tense in the Westlands for many cycles, but he'd had no idea that the Westpeople had such little control over their criminals. It's not as though pirates are unheard of- Jisung has seen several Eastern pirate ships docking in Malagea's ports in his lifetime- but pirates from the West are notorious for killing people, for trading people and lives as though they were nothing more than flour or silk.

Jisung wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and sits up shakily, trying to calm down. 

Where to go now? Perhaps the kitchens- there’s several places there where Jisung could hide until the pirates leave. The bathroom door also has a lock- he could play it safe and stay there. 

An arrow flies through the open window and lands, vibrating, in the bathroom door. _The kitchen it is._

Jisung stops only to rip off his heavy, waterlogged dress _saal_ , leaving his lighter blouse and loose pants underneath. 

The hallway is silent, the lamps still lit. There’s no sign of intrusion, but that just makes Jisung feel more paranoid, somehow, like the intruders are hiding in the shadows cast by the dim light. 

The sound of his slippers against the stone floor is too loud. Jisung abandons them and carries on down the hallway barefoot, breathing shallowly. 

His mother is… dead, probably. It makes his heart ache in a strange, hollow way. Johan- _I hope he makes it out of here alive_ . Jisung fights back tears as he carefully takes the steps down to the first floor, one hand pressed against the wall for balance. 

He takes the last step down from the staircase and freezes. There’s somebody standing there, their figure a black silhouette in the low light. Jisung sucks in a sharp breath and slides into the shadows of the staircase, praying that the intruder- the _pirate_ \- hadn’t seen or heard him. 

“-of course I haven’t,” the person snarls ( a man, by the sound of it ), “I have better eyes than that. I wouldn’t waste his money like that.” 

Another voice speaks up, further away and faintly muffled. “Look, _I_ know you wouldn’t waste his coin like that, but Minho is new. He thinks he has a sharper eye than you.” 

The man laughs, high and cold. “Bullshit. He just thinks he's better because he has an ego the size of a white whale.” 

They walk further ahead down the hallway, towards the maids chambers. Jisung thinks he sees the gleam of a swordbelt around one of their waists, and shivers. _They're much larger than I thought they'd be._ Swordbelts are special blades, obtained only through the sacrifice of another human life. Only the worst kind of people wear them willingly. Jisung has seen drawings of the blades in books before, but never in real life. They glow a faint red in the half-light.

_Pirates._

What had they said? Something about wasting money, and a person named Minho? Jisung waits for a few tense minutes until he’s absolutely sure nobody is there before making his way in the opposite direction, towards the kitchens. 

Jisung’s heart drops when he sees the kitchen doors hanging on by their hinges, scorch marks striped up the grey metal. 

Hardly daring to breathe, he shuffles forward, avoiding shattered jars of jam and splinters of wood and plastic. The kitchen has been completely and utterly ransacked; mixers and urns have been flipped over, the food smeared on the ground, and there’s no sign of Chef or the kitchen staff anywhere. 

All the tables have been overturned save for one, where a man sits, a slice of _bamsul_ in one hand. 

He looks up and meets Jisung’s gaze, grey eyes hardening, and Jisung freezes. Every single molecule in his body screams at him to _run_ , to get away from this dangerous man, but he can’t. Jisung can’t even make himself blink. 

The man stands up with deliberately slow movements. He has blonde hair, thick and curly, and he’s dressed simply in black trousers and a white, open-necked dress shirt. Despite his relatively simple appearance, there’s an aura of something powerful to him. 

While he looks like he’s perhaps only five or six cycles older than Jisung, there’s a hard, weathered quality to the stranger’s eyes that make him appear much older. 

Jisung’s eyes dart to the swordbelt at the man’s hip, and then to the hoops in his ears and around his wrists. 

The man lifts up the _bamsul_ . “This is pretty good, you know,” He says conversationally, mouth half full, “I’ve never had bread quite like this before. It’s very sweet.” 

Jisung stares at him, dumbfounded. The man raises an eyebrow. He looks oddly familiar. 

“Sorry, did you want some?” He tears the loaf in half and offers it to Jisung. 

“What do you want?” Jisung manages, pressing his trembling fingers against the sides of his legs. There’s a large carving knife on the floor beside him- perhaps he’d be able to fend the stranger off with it. He reaches out to the side with a foot to hook the blade towards him.

The man clicks his tongue. “I wouldn’t try that, if I were you. I’m a very, _very_ good swordsman.” 

Jisung halts as the man steps closer, his eyes glittering. 

“What do I want? That’s a very good question. You’re very frightened, aren’t you? I can almost hear your heart beating.” 

The stranger- the _pirate_ , Jisung admits- leans in close. He smells like blood and foreign spices and sweat. 

“You’re just like a little bird.” 

He leans in close enough that Jisung can hear his breathing. “I came here for _you_ , little bird.” He reaches out to brush a thumb over one of Jisung’s eyelids. 

“I came here for the-,” 

Jisung draws his foot back and kicks him right in the nuts. The man doubles over, wheezing, and Jisung turns on his heel and runs, heart racing. 

”I’m a very, _very_ good swordsman!” Jisung echoes in a mocking falsetto, clambering up the stairs to the main floor. 

The library- he could go there, maybe- _who was that man_ \- 

He turns a corner and runs right into somebody. The impact sends him flying backwards on his back, knocking the wind out of him. When he sits up, head spinning, somebody is already leaning over him. His nose fills with the scent of cinnamon and sun. 

“Eshe?” 

Eshe stares down at him, something like regret on her features. “Sorry, milord.” She raises something dark and heavy in the air, eyes as hard as steel, and Jisung is only able to croak out a weak “Wait” before his head is filled with stars, bursting bright and loud behind his eyelids.

As he slides into the unfamiliar blackness of unconsciousness, he thinks he hears somebody saying his name.

 

»»————-　♔　————-««

It’s bright- much too bright. One of the servants must have forgotten to close the blinds again; the sunlight glows a peachy red behind Jisung’s eyes and it sends a stab of pain through his left temple. 

_This is what I get for drinking too much_ . 

Gulls cry overhead, which is odd for this time of year-the storms make it too hard for them to fly up the cliffs to the palace. Jisung’s body rocks back and forth. It almost feels like he’s on a boat. He cracks open one eye. 

He’s on a boat. 

On the deck of a ship, to be precise. It’s very big. Jisung sits up, his thoughts trickling out of his brain like slow, sticky, syrup. He’s propped up- no, he’s _tied_ to the wooden railing of the ship with rope- it rubs roughly against his wrists. He twists his head to look for Malagea.

It’s not there. Nothing’s there, actually. All Jisung can see is an endless expanse of shimmering azure sea in every direction. 

Jisung tips his head back, shocked and embarrassed to find tears welling up at the corners of his eyes. What had happened? He’d run into that _man_ , and then Eshe had-

“Hello again, little bird.” 

_Please, no_ . 

Jisung opens his eyes to see the man kneeling in front of him, a canid grin on his face. The smile brings out twin dimples on his cheeks, and maybe it’s the blow to Jisung’s head, but Jisung _swears_ he recognizes him. 

He spots the flag, then, rippling black silk fifty feet overhead. It’s a fairly simple design: two crossed bay branches, the leaves overlapping each other. A blackbird rests lightly on the cradle the branches make. Jisung has seen this flag many times before, has heard the whispered gossip about the crew of monsters that runs behind it. 

The face in front of him is one Jisung has seen on signposts and boards and newspapers, has seen those eyes before. That smile has been plastered on thousands of wanted posters around the city. 

_My cousins told me twisted stories about you_ , Jisung thinks. _I didn’t think you were real_ . 

Chan, the silver Wolf of the West, watches and laughs lightly as horror dawns on Jisung’s face. 

“Welcome aboard the _Blackbird_ , birdie.” 

Chan taps the underside of Jisung’s chin, forcing the younger man's eyes to meet his own. “You’re _ours_ now.”


	2. high tides

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _who shall sing me_   
>  _into the death-sleep sling me_   
>  _when i walk on the path of death_   
>  _and the tracks i tread are cold, so cold_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> \- _helvegen_ , wardruna

»»————-　♔　————-««

Jisung is six when he first learns about the _Blackbird_. 

It’s late summer, and he’s been seated next to his older cousin, Taehyung, who’s turning twelve. Jisung likes Taehyung- he’s witty and clever and he doesn’t let _anybody_ talk down to him, not even his own parents. 

The table in front of them is filled with fat, sizzling cuts of meat and side dishes. Jisung makes sure to clean his hands in the little bowl of water to his left before reaching out with his chopsticks to snag a heavy slice of steaming beef. 

Taehyung intercepts Jisung’s chopsticks with his own, carefully maneuvering the meat to Jisung’s plate for him. “Careful, ‘Sungie. I don’t want you to burn yourself.” He give Jisung a fond, boxy smile. 

Jisung beams. “Thanks, Hyungie!” He shoves the slice of beef into his mouth, enjoying the way that it melts into his mouth, hot and spiced and crispy at the edges. It’s a little _too_ hot. Taehyung shoves a glass of water into his hands and snickers at his grateful expression. 

He loves nights like these- nights where he can just eat and laugh with his favorite person and listen to the minstrels play. A servant comes forward to top up his glass with _furlen_ \- a cobalt, syrupy drink, and Jisung drinks eagerly, his fingers a little greasy from the food. The liquid tastes _blue_ , sticky sweet with a sour edge. 

Taehyung slips scraps to his dog under the table; Jisung giggles as the hound licks honey-sauce off his his fingers, its tail wagging.

Halfway through the third course, a courier bursts into the hall, bringing a gust of cool night air along with her. The conversation trickles to a halt as she stumbles up the steps to Jisung’s uncle. 

“Lord,” She pants, wiping a sweaty strand of hair away from her face, “I have… an urgent message from the shipyard.” 

Jisung stares at her curiously, his dessert lying forgotten on his plate.

Jisung’s uncle straightens up, his bushy eyebrows pulling together. He swallows his bite of food and nods. “Go ahead.”

The courier coughs and pulls a crumpled slip of paper out of her jacket pocket and unfolds it, fingers trembling. She reads.

_“Lord Kim- I pray this letter delivers to you in good health. This is Captain Jung Hyegoo. As I write, my crew and I are doing our best to protect your ship, the_ Militant, _from being boarded._

_I cannot believe I am writing this, but it is the_ Blackbird, _milord. The_ Blackbird _is firing at us- has been chasing us for days now, herding us. The Wolf may very well board us. If you do not hear word back from us in a week, we have been compromised._

_I am sorry. Please tell my family I love them._

_Gods watch over us._

_Jung Hyegoo_.” 

Taehyung’s father spits out a curse. A maid turns away, fingers over her mouth. Jisung’s aunt clears her throat. “When was this letter dated?” 

The courier looks down, and by the twisted expression on her face Jisung can tell it’s no good. 

“July fourth, milady.” Three weeks ago. 

Jisung looks up and over at Taehyung. The older boy is sitting ramrod straight in his chair, eyes narrowed and fists clenched. _He’s angry_. 

“Hyungie,” Jisung whispers, tugging at the sleeve of Taehyung’s saal, “What’s going on? What’s wrong with a blackbird?” 

The corners of Taehyung’s mouth tighten. “Not a blackbird, Jisung. The _Blackbird_. It’s a pirate ship, run by the most evil people to ever exist.” He leans in. “They keep destroying Father’s warships and throwing his men overboard.” 

Jisung swallows, suddenly nervous. “Isn’t that ill-illagle?” 

“Ill _egal_ ,” Taehyung corrects softly. The older boy looks over at his father and mother, eyes sad. “Yes, it is. It’s not allowed at all. These pirates… they’re criminals. They all deserve to be thrown into the darkest, dirtiest cell in prison and never let out.” 

“Oh,” Jisung whispers, thinking about Captain Jung Hyejoo lying on the bottom of the ocean floor, little fish swimming through his hair while he looks up up _up_ at the ocean’s surface, hoping to see a little glimmer of light. “Do they only go for warships?” 

Taehyung pauses for a long time, as if he’s deliberating telling Jisung or not. “No,” He says finally, “They don’t. The _Blackbird_ comes for anybody who looks like they have a lot of coin.” 

“Like us?” 

Taehyung ruffles Jisung’s hair and gives him a little grin. “Yeah. Especially us. That’s why our families stay on Malagea- it’s not safe for brightly-coloured birds and bears out at sea.”

Jisung nods, eyes round and glossy, and it’s then that Taehyung decides to leave out the old tale of broken contracts and promises long ignored in favour of grabbing his cousin another pastry. 

That night, Jisung stays up for a long, long time, afraid that if he looks out the window he’ll see water-bloated men trudging out of the shallows, or that he’ll see a sleek boat flying black flags on the horizon.  
»»————-　♔　————-««

And here Jisung is, fourteen years later, lying on the very deck of the ship that he used to have nightmares about. He wrenches himself back to the present, just in time for the Wolf to whisper three words, hot and dark, into his ear. 

“ _You’re ours now_.” 

Jisung grits his teeth, fighting back a full body shiver.. _What is that supposed to mean_? You can’t just own people like one does cows or pigs. It’s just not right. He casts a fearful look around the deck of the ship, over Chan’s shoulder- the faces he sees are unfamiliar. 

Except- 

“Felix?” Jisung calls incredulously. Said man blinks, startled, before looking away. Chan raises an eyebrow. 

“So you have met some of my crew. I knew you’d run into at least one member, but I didn’t think it would be Felix. Felix!” 

Felix steps forward reluctantly, deliberately not meeting Jisung’s gaze. “Yeah, cap.” 

Chan sits back on his haunches and eyes Jisung. “When did you meet birdie?”

The tall, lanky man sighs. “I was scouting out the beach. He showed up, said his name was Johan. We talked briefly about the incoming storm and I-,” He chuckles at this, “-I told him to stay safe.” 

A low ripple of laughter runs through the crowd of people around him. Chan grins. “Well, well. Look at how that turned out.” 

Cold, icy anger pushes any fear that Jisung feels aside. These people killed his mother, his people, and probably everyone else he’s ever cared about. He’s still in shock. He doesn’t know how he feels underneath the anger, but he knows he wants them to _pay._ Jisung wriggles his bound wrists experimentally. They’re damp with sea spray; he can feel them give slightly. 

_Maybe…_

“Hey,” Chan says softly. “Do you know why you’re here?” 

“Because you’re _pirates_ ,” Jisung growls, twisting his wrists behind his back. “If it’s money you’re looking for, I won’t give it to scum such as yourself.” He raises his head defiantly, leveling the Wolf with a cold glare. “I’d rather die.” 

Chan smiles again. It’s not very genuine. “Then it’s a good thing that we didn’t take you for your money.” He looks over at his crew. “Our cargo isn’t just in gold and silver, birdie. We collect special things- pretty things. Things you can’t find easily on this earth.” 

Jisung frowns. What’s more important to a pirate than precious jewels and riches? “Such as?” 

“Well,” Chan muses, “You, for starters. I’ve never seen anyone with eyes like yours. One brown, one blue… you’re a rare little bird for sure. You’d be worth a pretty penny at the markets, if I decided to sell you.” 

A slim, pretty man takes a half step forward, a shadow of a frown on his face. “Captain, don’t you think you’re going a bit-,” 

“Quiet,” Chan murmurs, silky and dark. The pretty man shakes his head slightly and falls silent. A tall, broad man with calm features touches the pretty man’s shoulder lightly, something akin to disappointment in his gaze.

Jisung forces back the hysterical laughter bubbling up in his chest. His eyes? The pirates took him because of his _eyes?_ The rumours were true, then, about pirates from the Westlands. _Dirty slavers and scum of the earth, the whole lot of them_...

Jisung summons up what little spit he has in his mouth and spits it at the captain, hitting him directly on the cheek. He watches with a detached kind of satisfaction as irritation flickers across Chan’s face- the first real sign of emotion from the pirate he’s seen since waking up. Chan shivers a few times ( if Jisung didn’t know better he’d think the pirate was _vibrating_ ) teeth bared in a deliberate attempt to stay calm. When Chan finally speaks, it’s cold and clipped.

“Someone take the little lord to the brig. Get Seungmin to look at him first.” Chan stands up and stalks away, not bothering to wipe the trail of spit off of his cheek. 

Jisung watches him walk away, and prays to the gods for the pirate to be struck down by lightning. The ropes are looser now, much looser, and if he twists his left hand _just so_ and curls it into a fist he can nearly pull his right hand through-

“Do you really think that will do you any good?” 

Jisung looks up. It’s the pretty man from earlier. “Pardon?” 

The man gestures to Jisung’s bound hands. “If you manage to slip out of the ropes, where would you go? Even if you knew how to swim, you wouldn’t get far. We’re days away from land; you’d drown.” 

“Drowning is still a better fate than being pawned off to some greasy merchant for a sack of coin,” Jisung retorts, not wanting to see the logic in the other man’s sentence. The man sighs, rubbing at the red bandana on his forehead. 

“Look- the captain wouldn’t do that. He’s not like that. I do not know as to why he thought threatening you would be an acceptable course of action.” The pirate holds out a hand. “You can call me Hyunjin.” 

“I’m...Johan,” Jisung replies after a moment of deliberation. “I’d shake your hand, but mine are a little tied right now.” Hyunjin winces and drops his hand. “Oh, yeah.” 

A long, serrated blade appears from Hyunjin’s loose, sun-bleached trousers. Jisung flinches away as he approaches. Hyunjin gives him a wry smile. “I’m not going to stab you, Johan. I’m not heartless.” 

“You’ll have to forgive me for assuming otherwise,” Jisung manages, holding very still as Hyunjin carefully cuts through the soaked rope around his wrists. “You are a pirate, after all.” 

“Never said that I wasn’t,” Hyunjin sighs, pulling the ropes off of Jisung’s wrists. “Here, stand up. You’ve been passed out for nearly a day- and in full sun, too- you need some water in you.” 

Jisung stands up on shaky knees and nearly sits right back down, dizziness and the odd wobbling feeling of the waves underneath him throwing him off balance. 

Hyunjin catches him by the elbow. “Easy, there. Let’s go pay a visit to Seungmin.” 

“Wonderful,” Jisung mutters, shutting his eyes against the throbbing in his head and wrists. “I dislike all of you immensely.” 

Hyunjin chuckles. “You nobles and your politely worded insults.” 

“I’m glad my abduction situation is amusing to you.” Jisung heaves a sigh of relief as Hyunjin pulls open a door and leads him down a little hallway, grateful to be out of the direct sun. The pirate smells like plain soap and the wind. Jisung wrinkles his nose at the unfamiliar combination. 

_I need to get out of here_. The moment the _Blackbird_ anchors, he’ll run. He doesn’t care where- any place is better than being kept here. Jisung looks at the rooms lining the hallway and wonders which one is the captains, wonders how easy it would be to kill the Wolf in his sleep. With a little jolt of adrenaline, Jisung realizes that he _could_ , that it wouldn’t tear him up inside to do so. 

( “ _Birds are flighty, light creatures,” Lady Han murmurs. “Bears, on the other hand, hold grudges for a long, long time. They don’t let things go until they go their way._ ”

_Little Jisung leans in eyes wide. “And we’re bears, right_?” 

_Lady Han smiles, her eyes turning into half-moons. “We’re both. Remember that, and use it to your advantage_.” )

_The Wolf’s first mistake_ , Jisung thinks, something cold and hard settling into his bones, _was to underestimate me._

“Okay!” Hyunjin says, startling Jisung out of his half-baked murder fantasy, “Here we are. Seungmin!” They’ve come to an abrupt stop outside of a slim, pale door at the end of the hallway. Jisung eyes it nervously. 

A tall, willowy man with cherry-red hair cracks open the door. His eyes widen when they land on Jisung. “Oh, dear. The captain went overboard again, didn’t he?” 

“More than a little,” Hyunjin mutters darkly. “Poor kid was tied up overnight to the deck.”

Seungmin gives Jisung a sympathetic once-over before pulling open the door all the way. “Come in, come in.”

“Seungmin is the _Blackbird_ ’s doctor,” Hyunjin murmurs, steering Jisung through the narrow doorway. “He won’t hurt you.”

“I certainly hope not,” Seungmin replies, motioning for Jisung to take a seat on a little white bed pressed against the far wall. “It would go against my creed.”

“You’re a real doctor?” Jisung rasps, eyeing the exposed wooden beams over his head. _Are they supposed to move like that?_

Seungmin snaps on a thin pair of translucent gloves. “I’m the real deal. Got my certification back home and everything.” 

_And you gave that up to play doctor on a pirate ship?_ Jisung stares up at the ceiling. The wooden beams are definitely moving- dancing and undulating slowly like sea grass. “The ceiling is moving.” 

Seungmin glances over. “Yes,” The redhead replies evenly, “It does that sometimes, when a new person comes on board. Don’t worry about it- it’s just curious.” 

The throbbing in Jisung’s left temple intensifies significantly. “Ah,” He manages. He leans back against the wall, his head lolling against the smooth wood, and gasps when a soft, many-layered voice touches his ears. 

_Hello, boy-thing_. 

Oh no. No, no _no_. It’s all a little too much for Jisung’s poor, dehydrated brain. Hyunjin says something, but Jisung can’t hear it, can’t hear much of anything. Noise and light fade away; a soft, repetitive chime wobbles in the space between his ears. 

The _Blackbird_ \- it’s the _Blackbird_ , the ship is _speaking_ to him- hums. _Sleep now?_

Jisung doesn’t even have the strength to think as a soft, sticky-black mass covers his eyes and drags him down into sleep, the waves below rocking him back and forth. 

»»————-　♔　————-««

Hyunjin watches Seungmin rub a sweet-smelling balm onto Johan’s angry red rope burns. “Is he going to be okay?”

Seungmin doesn’t look up. “He’ll be fine. Talking to the ship is always a startling experience the first time, and I doubt being tied above deck without water or food for a full night helped much.” There’s no missing the edge of anger in the doctor’s voice.

“I’ve given him a salve for his wrists and sunburn, and he’ll need food and water when he wakes up- small amounts at a time, though. I don’t want him vomiting everything back up.”

Johan mumbles something unintelligible under his breath, head lolling back against the pillows. _Poor kid._ Hyunjin winces and turns to look out the small, circular window. All he can see is shimmering, choppy sea. It never fails to lighten his heart- even now, after all these years. 

Something about this whole situation is bothering him. The kid-Johan- has unusual eyes, yes, but it’s not magical, not supernatural. _So why did the captain take him?_ What makes this little lord so special that the captain would not only change the _Blackbird_ ’s course but lead the attack on the castle himself? 

Hyunjin casts another look down on the kid. He’ has a sweet, round face, with a pert nose and curly brown hair. He can’t taste any magic in the air around Johan, can’t hear it crackle and pop like kindling on a beachfire. 

“You think it’s odd, don’t you?” Seungmin murmurs, startling Hyunjin out of his thoughts. “That the captain went to such great lengths for somebody this mundane?”

“It is strange. These past couple years, the captain has been acting strangely. More erratic. It’s almost like he’s- almost like-,” 

“Don’t,” Seungmin hisses, voice razor sharp. “Don’t say it. The ship will hear. It always does.”

Hyunjin swallows, fingers twitching for the pocket watch in his trouser pocket. He can feel the cool metal against the heated skin of his thigh even through the fabric. “You know what I mean, then.” 

Seungmin rearranges the thin sheets and pulls them up over Johan’s shoulders, his expression grim. “Yes,” he says finally, turning and looking at Hyunjin with tired eyes, “I do. It’s not what you think it is, however.” 

“Care to explain, then?” 

Seungmin laughs and pulls off his gloves. “You and I both know we can’t do that.”

Hyunjin hums and pulls open the door. “That I do.” 

When he leaves, he brushes his fingertips over the lacquered door frame, bare skin against glossy wood. The _Blackbird_ sighs at him, soft and sweet. _Trust us_. 

“I’m trying,” Hyunjin breathes, thinking of the scared boy in the bed behind him, “I’m trying my best.” 

»»————-　♔　————-««

When Jisung wakes up next, it’s dark. He stares muzzily at the silver prism of moonlight leaking through the little window next to him, trying to get his bearings. His headache is gone, but his wrists ache terribly, and his skin feels tight and itchy. He’s still wearing his saal, but the fabric is stiff and rumpled, torn around the hem. 

For a long, sleepy moment, he feels at peace, blissfully ignorant of the situation he’s managed to get himself into. And then a figure- the doctor- _Seungmin_ \- stands up from a far corner of the room and everything comes crashing back. The fires, his _mother_ \- Jisung lets out a choked gasp, panic flooding into his chest, ice cold. 

“It’s okay,” Seungmin says soothingly, palms held outwards. “I’m not going to hurt you. Nothing bad is going to happen. Are you thirsty?” 

Jisung swallows. His tongue feels like a wad of cotton, and his mouth is bone dry. He’s very thirsty. “Y-yes,” he croaks, accepting the little cup of water the other man hands him warily. He sniffs it ( even though most drink-based poisons are odorless and colourless ) before gulping it down. 

“I’m not going to poison you,” Seungmin says, sounding almost wounded, like Jisung should have no reason not to trust a pirate doctor on a pirate ship. “Want some more?” 

Jisung eyes the jug of water in the doctor’s hand. 

“Yes, please,” Jisung says quietly, downing the liquid with a little more grace than before. His head hurts. His chest hurts, but it’s a different kind of pain. Seungmin nods. 

“If you can keep that down, I’ll go and see if I can steal some soup and bread from the kitchen.” 

Jisung fidgets, fingers leaving condensation marks on the metal jug. “What do you plan to do with me?” 

There’s a long silence. 

“I don’t know what the captain has in store,” Seungmin says firmly, “But I swear on my mother’s grave that there will be no selling you or trading you off. The captain takes his jokes too far, sometimes.” 

Jisung narrows his eyes. “It didn’t look much like he was joking. He seemed very willing to pawn me off up there.” 

Seungmin pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose with one tanned finger. “I know you have very little reason to trust me right now- as you should, considering the circumstances that we have met under- but you have my _word_ that nothing bad will happen to you on this ship.” 

Jisung just looks at him with those round, strange eyes- one caramel, the other a startling shade of white-blue, and Seungmin shivers at the way they gleam and reflect the dim light. “I do not believe you, but I don’t have much of a choice, do I? I’m a prisoner here.” 

He can tell that he’s making Seungmin uncomfortable. _Good_. It’s reassuring to know that some pirates actually have some semblance of a moral compass. That cold, hard ball of anger rears its head again, makes Jisung bite down so hard on his own lip that he draws blood. 

Copper on his tongue- _They still burned down my home. They still killed my mother_. 

Lady Han had been neither a particularly kind woman nor a warm one, but she had cared about Jisung in her own way. She’d raised Jisung single-handedly after his father’s ship had capsized, drowning the whole crew, and she’d done her best. 

She’d done her best. 

Jisung hates his mother, detests her- but he also loves her, and it _hurts_ that he’ll never get to tell her so. Jisung forces back the tears prickling at the corners of his eyes and sits up straight. He’ll make the Wolf pay, even if it’s the last thing he does. 

Seungmin coughs, stance awkward. “I’ll go get you that food, okay? Don’t leave this cabin unless you want to run into the captain.” 

Jisung watches him leave, watches the door shut. As soon as he hears the telltale click of the lock sliding into the bolt he’s out of bed, peering out the circular window and inspecting the little room. 

There’s not much to see out the window- just water, endless miles of it. Jisung shivers at the unfamiliarity of it before going over to the crowded bookshelves, running his fingers over the cracked, dusty spines. There’s books in languages he doesn’t even recognize, books with bloodstains smeared across the cover- and there’s even one that looks like it’s made from leathered _skin_ , which Jisung recoils from with a shudder. 

He pokes through Seungmin’s drawers- medical equipment, socks, various quills and stacks of parchment- before flopping back down on the bed, feeling exhausted and slightly bored. And scared. Fear has been a buzzing background noise even since he’d woken up on the _Blackbird_. 

_Safe_. Those distorted, warm voices again. 

Jisung presses two hands to his ears. “Stay out of my head!” He’s never been the type to be overly dismissive of the concept of magic, but for a ship to have a omnipresent consciousness… it’s hard to believe. It makes him wonder how accurate his textbooks were about the world outside of Malagea. 

_Real_ , the _Blackbird_ insists, tone consoling. Jisung grimaces. “Either that, or I’ve lost my sanity.” 

_Real,_ the _Blackbird_ repeats, buzzing a little more frantically. Jisung doesn’t respond. Instead, he walks over to the door and tries the handle. _Locked_. He looks around for anything- a small piece of metal, maybe, or a slim nail- but comes up empty-handed. 

The ship hums under his fingertips, quietly amused. Jisung flinches away at the almost human heat of the wood against his skin and freezes, mouth agape, when the door unlocks and opens by itself. 

_Help you_ , the _Blackbird_ says hopefully, voices lilting upwards, _explore_. 

 

_Maybe I am not actually crazy,_ Jisung rectifies, staring at the open door with wide eyes. He takes a step out into the dimly lit hallway, checking down the hallway both ways before deciding to down the set of staircases at the end of the hall. 

»»————-　♔　————-««

Seungmin nearly drops the bowl of stew when he sees the open door. He’d- he’d locked the door, hadn’t he? He sets down the tray of food and peers down at the lock- no sign of it being picked. Something clicks in his head. 

“ _Shit_ ,” he hisses through gritted teeth, and runs off to find Hyunjin, food lying steaming and already forgotten on the floor. 

So the ship likes the kid, then. That’s either very good, or very bad, because the _Blackbird_ never does things halfway. _At the very least_ , Seungmin thinks, hesitating outside the kitchen, _it should keep Johan safe._

He pushes open the swinging doors and finds himself face to face with a grinning Chan. That smile of his drops fast enough when he sees the wild panic in Seungmin’s eyes. “What’s wrong?” 

The rest of the crew falls silent. “Well,” Seungmin says finally, “I suppose it depends on what your definition of ‘wrong’ is.” 

»»————-　♔　————-««

If Jisung closes his eyes and tilts his head just so, Jisung can faintly hear laughter and clapping above his head. _That must be where the kitchens are_. He’ll avoid that. He grips the curved wooden bannister and walks carefully down the steps to the next level, a faint gasp escaping his lips as he realizes that the steps themselves are made from _glass_. He stares through them, unable to make out the dark shapes below. 

Something like a warning bell goes off in the back of his brain, but he ignores it in favour of pushing onwards, the _Blackbird_ a faint humming presence around him. Ships have lifepods, do they not? It doesn’t seem entirely out of the ordinary that the _Blackbird_ would have a few as well, even though it’s proven itself to be rather unconventional so far. 

A talking _ship_. It’s probably the least of Jisung’s worries- or concerns- at this point in time. 

As soon as he sets foot on the last stair, the _Blackbird_ speaks up, a razor edge to their voice. _Careful._

Jisung freezes, one bare foot hovering in the air. He peers into the semi-darkness, doing his best to separate the actual shapes from the tricks the shadows play on his eyes. There are several crates, stacked in a single layer next to each other. Barrels of what appear to be mead are lashed to the floor with rope and chain, and at the very back of what Jisung assumes to be the hold of the ship is four or five very large cages. 

His heart jumps to his throat. Chan’s words ring in his ears, ugly and amused- _Our cargo isn’t just in gold and silver, birdie. We collect special things- pretty things_. 

_Oh gods,_ Jisung thinks, sitting down on the stair with a muffled thump, one hand pressed over his mouth to hide his horrified grimace, _Seungmin lied to me. They are Westlander slavers._ Someone coughs and shifts in one of the cages. Jisung stands jerkily, heart pounding. He picks his way through the sacks of rice and wheat, wincing as he stumbles over a loose piece of wood on the floor. 

“Hello?” Jisung inquires softly, shaky hands held out slightly in front of him. “Are you okay?” The figure in the cage tenses, turns- and it’s not a person at all, really. It should be a woman, if not for the abrupt way her torso dissipates into a silky, translucent smoke, and the unearthly light in her eyes. 

She hisses at him, teeth long and curved and _sharp_ , mouth far too wide for a normal human being. Jisung staggers backwards as she slams herself up against the wall of the cage, howling. The noises from upstairs cease. He watches as the metal of the cage lights up red and blue, throwing the _thing_ back with a loud popping noise. 

They watch each other through the spitting blue-red of the metal cage between them. 

See, the _Blackbird_ says gently. _Careful_. 

“ _Disir_ ,” A new voice says, startling Jisung. He turns to see a tall, broad-shouldered man. “They’re deceased female spirits from the North. They flip between being warlike and motherly- don’t take her outburst personally. She’s been in that cage for a long, long time.” 

Jisung doesn’t know which he feels more threatened by- the creature behind him, or the man in front of him. The man has a sharp jaw and soft, almost catlike features, but his eyes are hard and cold. When he speaks, it makes Jisung shiver. 

“You aren’t supposed to be down here.” 

“I wasn’t supposed to be _here_ in the first place.” 

The man tilts his head to one side. “Are you sure?” 

Jisung doesn’t know what to say to that. “Who are you?” He asks instead, glancing around for a way out. There’s a gap in between two crates- he could squeeze through that, perhaps. The man crosses his arms.

“You can call me Woojin. I’m the quartermaster- the captain’s right hand man.” 

“Oh,” Jisung says. “Would you like to tell me why I’m here?” 

Woojin shrugs. “I can’t do that, unfortunately. That’s against the captain’s orders.”

“I was not expecting the leader of a pirate ship to have such an iron grip on the people around him,” Jisung says, inching towards the gap. The _disir_ watches him move balefully, but says nothing. 

Something darkens in Woojin’s eyes. _Looks like I may have touched a nerve_. “All positions are voted in. We’re a democracy here- we vote on everything from meals to sail courses.” 

“You don’t have to convince me of anything,” Jisung replies cheerfully. “Goodbye!” 

He drops to his knees and slips through the gap in the crates, urged onwards by the _Blackbird_. Woojin shouts something after him, but the sound of Jisung’s heartbeat in his ears drowns out any other sound. He crawls through the gap to find himself in another room, empty of cages this time. The ship opens a door at the far end of the room. _This is one big ship_. 

_Here,_ the _Blackbird_ says. _Look._

He doesn’t know how much trust to place in a sentient, magical ship that is host to a crew of pirates, but it’s either that or Woojin. Or Chan. The thought sends a little thrill of fear up his spine. 

_I’ll take the path that ends up with me not being murdered or pawned off_. 

Inside the next room is water. The floor, painted with a sheer coat of something slick and waterproof, extends a quarter of the way across the room before coming to a clean, abrupt stop. Jisung holds his breath and walks forward, watching the light from the small, choppy waves reflect a shimmering pattern onto the ceiling. 

“What is this?” Jisung breathes, stopping just short of the edge of the water. It’s deep- light azure blue fading into deep, yawning electric blue. It’s also empty- nothing inside, no plants or fish. 

Jisung looks up at the beams. “Why did you bring me here?” He asks, voice bouncing off the walls and echoing back at him. The _Blackbird_ is silent. All Jisung can hear is the dusty creaking of the ship and the repetitive lapping of the water against the wood floor. He stands for a few more moments, staring down at the water before turning to leave. He’s halfway out the door, already thinking of another place to hide when a clear, bell-like voice pipes up. 

“Are you here to save me?” 

Jisung slowly turns back. There’s a girl in the water, her elbows propped up on the wood deck. Her hair is long and dark and wavy; her eyes round and green. She looks scared. Jisung doesn’t really trust her. He shuffles over to her regardless, making sure to put a few feet of distance between them. 

Jisung sits down. “Do you need saving?” 

The girl rolls her eyes. “Do you seriously think that I would be in this hole out of my own volition? I was taken.” 

Her accent is thick and heavy with a language Jisung cannot place. He nods.

“I, also.” 

She eyes his ripped _saal_ , the bandages on his arms. “It seems as though they’ve been far more unkind to you than I.” 

“So it seems,” Jisung agrees, fully aware of the odd sight he must make. “Are you- are you human?” The words trip off of his tongue, thick and clumsy. The girl grins, eyes sparkling, and lifts her lower half out of the water for a quick, teasing second. 

It’s enough to make out a large, fan-like tail, slick with iridescent scales and seawater. Jisung slides backwards. _What is she?_ The girl grins, showcasing a row of even, pointed teeth. “Be calm, meatbag. I don’t eat your kind often- definitely not a fellow prisoner such as yourself.”

“You’ll have to forgive me for not being very trusting,” Jisung finally manages, “But it’s been a trying two days and it seems as though there’s a nasty surprise waiting for me with every step.” 

“You’d be a fool not to be cautious,” The girl replies, voice bored. “You asked what I was, and I’ll tell you.” She frowns at looks down. “I’m bait.” 

The hairs on the back of Jisung’s neck stand straight up. “For what?” 

“Not _what_ \- who. I’m nothing special- not as far my kind go, anyways.” She eyes the doorway contemptuously. “No, I’m just a pawn in the Wolf’s game. He needs me because he knows that my maker will not come within ten feet of his cursed ship otherwise.” 

Jisung is starting to feel completely in over his head. _These pressures have been rising long before you were ever here_. “Your maker?”

The girl nods. “He’s like me. But different. The Wolf likes strange, unique things. Anything else is just discardable.” 

The words force themselves out of Jisung’s throat. “I am going to kill him.” He’s shaken by the truth behind them. He’s never killed anyone before- never wanted to. The anger he feels could swallow him, if he let it. 

That grin again, triangular teeth and angry lips. “Good.”

The _Blackbird_ shivers and bucks underneath Jisung, shutting the two of them up effectively. The girl dunks her head under the water for a long moment before resurfacing. _She doesn’t have any eyelids_. 

“I think that’s my maker,” she says solemnly. “I would suggest getting above deck, unless you can breathe underwater.” 

“Ah- no, thank you.” Jisung stands up and gives her a stilted little bow. “Good luck-,” 

“Eunha,” The girl finishes for him. “And you-,” 

“Jisung,” He says, his real name slipping out between his lips. 

With a nod and a glance, the two separate- Jisung moving up, and Eunha swimming down. _Hurry_ , the _Blackbird_ hums. _Quick_. The ship shudders sideways, sending Jisung flying to the side and right into somebody.

“Hello, birdie,” the Wolf says, chest rumbling against Jisung’s ear, “What a coincidence, seeing you down here.” 

Jisung snarls wordlessly and swings a fist towards the blonde man’s face. Chan catches Jisung’s fist with his own, a bemused expression on his face. “We don’t have time for that right now. Try and murder me later, yeah?.” 

The captain grabs onto Jisung’s arm and pulls him back up those suspended stairs made of glass, up the hallway, and back up onto the deck. All around them people move with purpose, shouting over their shoulders and holding glowing jars of _wrylitgh_ high over their heads. 

The night is dark; clouds cover the faint circle of the moon above, and a damp, chilly wind cuts through the tattered fabric of Jisung’s _saal_ and under trousers. He shivers, pressing his hands to his chest for warmth. 

Seungmin skids to a stop in front of them, glasses askew and hair damp. “They’re trying to breach the hull from the side, captain.” 

Chan hums, his gaze sweeping across the deck. “Lower the nets. Put two jars of _wrylitgh_ in each one, and for the love of the gods make sure there are no holes in them.” Seungmin nods twice, does a double-take at the sight of Jisung standing there next to Chan, and runs across the deck to where a group of men and women are heaving huge, corded nets over the side of the ship. 

The _Blackbird_ rocks to the side again, and Chan hisses out a strangled curse through his teeth. Jisung topples against one of the railings and looks down down down- at its no storm of the sea that causes the _Blackbird_ to writhe back and forth. Through the black, choppy water are dozens and dozens of pairs of _hands_ , sickly green and pale against the soaked wood of the ship. Jisung watches as the hands withdraw and push against the hull of the ship in complete synchronization. 

Jisung watches those pale, long-fingered hands until Chan steps up beside him, breath ragged and heavy. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” 

Jisung glances over and does his best not to flinch away at the wild light in the other man’s eyes, the eager grin on his face. “No,” Jisung says. “It’s not.” If it keeps going this way, the _Blackbird_ will take on water until they sink, leaving behind nothing but a whirlpool of bubbling water and all of those hands. 

( Jisung wonders if it will be _him_ lying on the bottom of the ocean floor, little fish swimming through _his_ hair while he looks up at the ocean’s surface. He doesn’t want to die, really. Not yet. Not until he can avenge his mother and his home. )

The freckled man- Felix- bursts out from the lower deck, drenched in water. “Cha-Captain- there’s a breach in the hold. We’re taking in water- it’s not much of a threat- but the siren is gone.” 

Chan stands contemplatively, one hand cocked on his hip. He bellows out the next sentence with such force that Jisung has to resist the urge to cover his ears. “Pull up the nets!” 

The crew grabs the thick, knotted edge of the nets over the sides and _heaves_ , pulling seawater and kelp up from the ocean onto the deck. It’s clear that there’s _something_ in the nets- Jisung can see the tendons flexing and muscles straining in the bodies of the crew. Chan joins them, rolling up his sleeves and tugging on a side of the net with an almost frenzied kind of glee. 

Jisung watches the nets move, watches the hands against the ship move from where he stands glued to the deck. What he’s watching is something out of a fairytale, or a nightmare. It feels surreal- these last few days have felt surreal, like he’s going to wake up any second and Johan will be there with a cup of tea and a cheery smile- but it’s not. It’s real. 

It’s real, and Jisung is just _standing_ there. 

_Help!_ The _Blackbird_ shrieks, feedback distorting their voices and spiking against Jisung’s eardrums. It’s enough to spur Jisung into action, enough to make Jisung dig his bare, numb feet into the slick deck and pull at one of the nets, fingers rubbing raw against the soaked fibres. 

Chan looks over at him for a split second, surprise crossing his face like a passing shadow. Jisung stares back, stone cold and message clear: _I am not doing this for you_. Chan shakes his head and yanks at the net viciously. 

He tilts his head up, squinting through the sea spray for something. “Eshe? Any sign?” He calls. Jisung’s fingers fumble in the net. _Eshe_? His Eshe? 

The voice that calls down from a tiny platform halfway up from the mast is unmistakably his Eshe. “Almost there, captain. Just a little bit further.” 

“Of course,” Jisung mutters, biting back a curse as a surge of water slaps across his face, “I should have expected my servants to all be kidnappers. Perhaps Johan in on board as well.” 

A woman with frizzy red hair eyes him apprehensively and shuffles away to another section of the net. Jisung ducks his head, embarrassed, before remembering that it was _these people_ that got him into this situation. _I’ll sound as foolish as I want_.

After several long, painful moments, Eshe calls out again. “Heave! Now!” 

Jisung pulls up alongside everyone else, his arms shaking with the effort of holding up whatever is in the net. “Check the first net!” Chan barks, his voice wavering slightly, his biceps tense against the patterned mesh of the net. 

The frizzy-haired woman scampers over and peers down, a bottle of _wrylihgt_ in her hands. It illuminated the people and the sea below them with an unnatural blue glow. “Well, what is it?” Chan yells. 

“Rocks,” The woman says bitterly, mouth drawn downwards, “The blasted thing is piled full of rocks.” 

“Check the next one.” Chan commands. It’s the same thing- rocks. Jisung smiles despite himself. _Whatever these creatures are, they are incredibly smart and rather petty_. The frizzy-haired woman moves over to Jisung’s net, _wrylihgt_ casting ghostly shadows on her face. She leans overboard, bottle held out, and tenses. Something is different. 

“There’s something,” she yells. “Something’s in here.” The rest of the crew rushes forward, making it easier to pull the net up and over the side of the railing and onto the deck. Chan pushes his way through the throng and kneels down, shoulders tense. 

Even standing on his tiptoes, Jisung can’t make out what is in the net. Somebody grabs his elbow gently- _Hyunjin_ \- and together they shoulder their way to the front. 

Jisung’s breath catches in his throat. It looks somewhat similar to Eunha, but this one _glows_ , faint and milky purple, and its tail is massive, spanning nearly the length of Jisung’s own body. Spike run along its upper arms and spine, white tipped and glistening dangerously in the blue light. Clutched protectively in its very human hands is the jar of _wrylihgt_. The creature makes a low clicking noise and tugs the jar close to its chest, spines stiffening along its back. 

Jisung’s voice is barely audible over the chatter of the crew around him. “What is it?” 

Hyunjin looks down, eyes tired. _He does not seem to be happy with this turn of events_  
. 

Chan straightens up, smile wide. “It’s a siren, birdie. One of the rarest creatures on this rock we live on. In many ways, it’s like the _nix_ we kept belowdeck- you met her, I’m sure- but this one is much, much older.” 

It could be human, if not for the gills and reflective yellow eyes. Jisung traces the contour of its face, the curve of its nose, and the cupid’s bow lips curled up around razor-sharp teeth. “Why do you want it?” Jisung murmurs. _Why do you want me?_

Chan spreads his arms, blonde curls plastered to his face. “Simple. I want to live forever, little birdie.” 

The siren looks up at them then, features uncomfortably human, yellow eyes narrowed into slits. A little thrill runs through Jisung at the fire in that gaze, at the clear intelligence that lies there. 

“Can it understand us?” Jisung asks. 

It takes the Wolf a while to speak, and when he does, his voice is thin. “Not at all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i listened 2 helvegen on repeat for this... *chefs kiss* mwah.  
> jisung needs a break.... like damn bitch go to bed.  
> hope u enjoyed the chapter!!!!!!!! thank u for reading, all ur comments are kind and <3333 
> 
> ( on twt @MlROH , tumblr @seungbins! )


	3. breaking waves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _we tossed and we turned our oceans_  
>  \- [ tidal wave ](https://open.spotify.com/track/3P605bZBbZR1DfnSaugFqa?si=B1akOzd7SMa-_2WG9JwPaw), snowmine

There is something you must know about the nature of wolves. They flourish most in a pack environment, surrounded by family in a structured hierarchy. The myth of the ‘lone wolf’ is incorrect- it’s not normal for wolves to live on their own. 

It still happens, though- mostly to the pack rejects, or to the sickly ones. 

This information is relevant because the Wolf of the West has never been a lone wolf- not by his own choice, at least.

That, however, is a story for a different time

»»————-　♔　————-««

Jisung sits on the steps of the aft deck, the sea breeze ruffling his hair. He’s been on the _Blackbird_ for three days and two nights, now, and with each passing moment his hopes of returning back to Malagea dwindle.

The siren had been gagged and bound and carried below deck before Jisung could really comprehend the situation. Chan had followed close behind, and to Jisung’s knowledge the captain hasn’t emerged from below once since that night. 

Jisung’s not complaining, though. The less he sees of the Wolf, the easier it is for him to breathe. 

The sea shines iridescent all around Jisung; he’s getting sick of the never-ending waves, truth be told. Land is something he has always taken for granted, and he regrets doing so now. 

Soft, barely audible footsteps alert him to the presence of someone nearby. He twists his body around slightly. 

It’s Eshe. Her dark, curly hair is pulled back into twin braids, and a long cotton shirt is tucked into tight fitting cloth pants. 

“Hello,” she says cautiously, and gestures towards the empty step next to Jisung. “May I sit?” 

Jisung narrows his eyes at her, but nods. She settles next to him and props up her hands on her knees. 

“How are you managing? Has anyone bothered you?”

“As well as I can manage,” Jisung says drily, “For somebody who was abducted from his burning home and threatened to be sold into slavery by the captain of a talking ship.” 

Eshe grimaces. “Fair enough.” She looks down at the wood floor, expression conflicted. “If it means anything, I did my best to deflect the rest of the crew away from you. I’d always thought of nobility as greedy, heartless creatures, but you were very kind to me.” 

Jisung laughs. It’s not a happy one. “You’re _pirates_ , Eshe. You kill and slaughter people and take their most prized possessions. You sell children, and women, and anything you think you can make good coin off of.” 

“ _We_ don’t sell people,” Eshe hisses, her eyes ablaze. “Never have and never will. And we kill, yes, but only the nobles who hoard their wealth while the lower castes around them starve.”

Jisung bites his lip, confused. “Then what of the rumours of the _Blackbird_? It’s said that the crew runs the most successful human trafficking ring on this side of the sea.”

A dark shadow passes over Eshe’s face. “There was another crew, before us- many years ago. Chan was not captain then.”

“How did that happen?” Jisung queries, curiosity piqued. 

Eshe shakes her head. “It is not my story to tell. That’s a story for the captain himself to share.” 

Jisung scoffs and rocks back on his feet. “I suppose I’ll never hear it, then.” 

The day he’d willingly speak to the captain would be the same day that he’d sprout wings and fly. 

“He’s not a bad man,” Eshe says softly. Her gaze is soft and faraway. “Truly. He saved most of our lives.”

“All of you?” Jisung says incredulously, gaze raking over the various crew members scurrying across the deck and masts of the ship like mice. “There must be at least twenty of you just running the sails and rigging.” Not to mention the cooks and cartographers and ship doctor. 

Eshe grins and nods. “Yes. Come- I will introduce you to them.”

Jisung balks. “I’m not so sure about that.” 

Undeterred, Eshe grabs Jisung firmly by the wrist and pulls him down the steps to the deck, a skip in her step. As they near the closest gaggle of men, Jisung is struck with a thought and digs his heels in. 

“Eshe, wait.”

She turns and gives him a questioning look. Jisung clears his throat. “I go by Johan, now.”

“Why?”

Jisung gives her a level gaze. “Because none of them deserve to know my real name.” 

_Names have power_ , Jisung’s mother says lowly. _Keep yours close to you, and out of the hands of your enemies_.

Perhaps Eshe understands; maybe she just pities him and gives him this one last bit of freedom. Either way, she nods. 

“Very well. Johan.”

She pulls him over to Hyunjin and another narrow-faced man with sleepy eyes. “I know you’ve met Hyunjin, but I don’t think you’ve met Minho- one of our newer members. He’s a dead shot with a bow and one of the quickest linesmen I’ve ever seen.” 

She pushes Jisung in front of her. 

“This is Johan.”

Minho gives Jisung a cursory once-over, eyes twinkling. “Charmed.” 

He gives Jisung a surprisingly delicate curtsy, pulling out the corners of his pants into a crude approximation of a skirt. 

Jisung manages a hoarse, “Hello” and Hyunjin laughs, head thrown back. “Don’t worry. Minho is all bark and no bite.”

“I bite sometimes,” Minho counters, leaning against the wooden railing of the ship. “Only if you ask me nicely, though.”

This time, Jisung can’t help the little grin that twists up the corners of his mouth. 

“Oho!” Minho exclaims, rocking forwards on the balls of his feet, hands clasped together. “I saw that smile, little bird. We’ll make a pirate out of you yet.” 

Jisung bristles, but before he can tell Minho that he’d rather be ripped apart by sharks before calling himself a pirate, Eshe is dragging him along to the next group of people. 

There’s Mi Ying, a muscled, tattooed woman with a shaved head from the East, and then there’s Leif- a stoic, stocky man from the far North. 

“Leif is actually very funny,” Eshe whispers. “His Universal is a little rustier than most, but he never makes for a dull conversation.”

Jisung nods. Universal had been a challenge to learn- a set of characters nearly similar to his mother tongue, but different enough to make formulating sentences slow and trying. He’s more than competent now, however: nearly twenty years of being forcibly courted by aristocrats across the seven seas makes for good language practice. 

As they pass by the Northman, Leif gives Jisung a small, encouraging smile and a hearty pat on the shoulder. Against his better judgement, Jisung smiles back. 

When Jisung sees the next person, his mood plummets. 

“Oh,” Jisung says flatly. “I know you. The quartermaster.” 

The man gives him a cool look and wipes sweat off of his brow. “Hello.” 

Eshe blinks. “You’ve met?”

Jisung thinks back to the cargo room with the cages of inhuman creatures and grimaces. “Unfortunately.”

“I don’t think I’m _that_ awful,” the man jokes, crossing his muscles arms across his bare chest, and Jisung huffs. 

“His name’s Woojin,” Eshe supplies helpfully. “He’s quartermaster, which means that he’s second-in-command. He’s also the one who doles out punishments, so stay on his good side.” 

“Reassuring,” Jisung grits out, narrowing his eyes when Woojin smiles at him, all teeth. “Can we move on, now?” He doesn’t trust the quartermaster- Woojin has a spark of something in his eyes, a fuse dangerously close to exploding into flame. 

“Yes, yes,” Eshe says. “Come on- let’s go meet the cooks.” 

The crew seem to all have set tracks. Each person runs to and fro, hauling buckets of soap and thick coils of rope. They’re a well greased machine, confident in their roles. 

Jisung watches them move up sails and across rickety catwalks, and wonders what the view would be like from the crows nest. 

_Pretty_ , the _Blackbird_ hums, nearly startling Jisung out of his skin. See the curve. 

What is _that_ supposed to mean? Jisung’s teeth tingle as the _Blackbird_ laughs at him, causing the floor beneath him to vibrate. He’s almost glad to hear from the ship- it had been deathly silent since the night the siren has been captured. 

_Speaking of sirens_ …

“Eshe,” Jisung ventures, placing on hand on the smooth railing as they make their way below deck, “Do you know what’s going to happen to the siren?” 

Eshe freezes and nearly slips on the last slip. “I know little more than you do. The captain has been close-lipped about our latest venture.” 

It’s a lie, but Jisung knows better than to press the subject further. He simply nods and allows it to slide to the back of his head. He _will_ push that line of questioning later. The hallways open up the further into the ship they go, and the smell of cooking meat and spices fills the air. 

“This,” Eshe says, pulling open a narrow door, “Is the mess hall. We all eat here, except for the captain. He joins us sometimes, but those times are few and far between, so you don’t have to worry about seeing him here.”

Jisung flushes. “I don’t- I’m not-,” 

“I don’t blame you, little lord!” someone calls out over the sound of hissing pots and bubbling meat. “The captain is a royal pain in the ass.” 

Jisung spins around. There’s a familiar man standing by a stove, his blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail and his hands covered in thin white gloves. “Felix.”

Felix shoots him a wink. “Long time no see, Johan. Sorry about the circumstances- we’re not as bad as we’re made out to be, you know.” 

“So I hear.” Jisung replies drily. 

Eshe grins and leans against the thin wooden counter. “Will some seasoned pork make you like us more?” 

Jisung resists the urge to roll his eyes. “Unlikely, but I am hungry.” 

Felix gasps. “Hungry? In _my_ kitchen? I won’t stand for it.” 

The man moves swiftly, chopping up vegetables and tossing them into shallow woks. If Jisung closes his eyes, he can almost imagine that he’s back in the kitchens, sitting at the low counter and watching Cook toss dough in the air with practiced ease. 

It’s not the same, though. Cook is dead, and the kitchens are burnt and toppled. Jisung watches Felix stir spices into a pot and absentmindedly wonders if there’s even enough left of the castle to call _home_. 

_From one cage to another_ , Jisung thinks. He takes a steadying breath, mind made up. _As soon as I see land, I’ll run_. 

The crew must need to stop for supplies at some point; he’ll take his leave then. He’ll have to kill Chan, first. What he’s done cannot be left unchecked. 

Eshe nudges him with her shoulder. “Are you okay?” 

Jisung musters up a smile. “I am fine. Just hungry.” 

Felix raises an eyebrow and gives him a knowing look- he says nothing, to his credit, and simply slides over a plate laden with rice and steaming, sizzling pork. “Eat.” 

And Jisung does. 

The days crawl by in a blur of sea salt and sweat. At first Jisung stays inside the confines of Seungmin’s room, staring out of the circular window at the same azul blue ocean. Boredom trumps fear eventually, however, and coaxes him out of the cool silence of the rooms and above deck. 

It’s been five days and six nights, and still no sight of land. Jisung is beginning to think that the lack of human interaction will do him in before the captain does. 

He scoops up some of the sauce-soaked rice on his plate with his chopsticks and pops some in his mouth, allowing his eyes to wander around the crowded mess hall. 

It’s hard to see through the thick, billowing clouds of nicotine- _every_ pirate on the blasted ship seems to smoke- but it’s apparent that he is going to be ignored yet again. 

The crew is civil, for the most part. People seem to be more wary of speaking to him than anything else, and Leif confirms that. 

“We are not allowed to talk with you.” 

Jisung looks up from his pank- crispy fish fried in seaweed and dried tangerines- in surprise. It’s the first time another other than Eshe, Jisung, or Hyunjin has directly spoken to him in _days_.

The mess hall is crowded and raucous with laughter and music, and the oil lanterns on the wooden posts sway gently to the shifting of the waves. 

Jisung looks from side to side to make sure that Leif is really talking to _him_ , even though the bench he’s sitting on is achingly devoid of anyone else. 

“Pardon?” 

Leif casts a look over at the rest of the crew in the mess hall before sitting down gingerly on the bench beside Jisung, plate in hand. He resembles a large bear in a very small space; his knees bump the underside of the table slightly. 

When he speaks again, his voice is gentle. “The captain told us that we were not to speak to you.”

Jisung raises an eyebrow. “And if you did?”

Leif grins. “A flogging. Ten lashes on each side.”

Jisung moves around a piece of fish to do something with his hands. “That seems… extreme.”

“Yes,” Leif replies. He grins devilishly. “But the captain is like guppy fish. All bark and sharp teeth, but the size of small child.”

The laugh that burbles out of Jisung’s lips is unbidden and unexpected.

It’s probably the first time in nearly three days that he’s smiled, let alone laughed- so he rolls with it, unaware of the sudden silence in the room. 

“A- a _guppy fish_ ,” Jisung gasps, one hand pressed to his side because he’s laughing so hard that his sides are aching. “He does! He is like one of those open-mouthed fish that…” He trails off at the sight of Leif’s wide eyes, locked somewhere over his shoulder. 

Jisung swallows thickly. “He is right behind me, isn’t he?”

Leif scratches his long beard contemplatively. “Ah, yes. I am afraid so.”

 _Yes_ , the _Blackbird_ hums, voices shrill. _Careful. Bad mood_. 

“He is,” the Wolf says lowly, and the timbre of his voice slides across the skin of Jisung’s neck, making him shiver. “Leif, I thought I made myself clear?”

The Northman nods, the clay beads in his hair clicking together. “Yes. And I thought you were being- what is that word- ah, _stupid_.”

Someone gasps at the same time that someone else lets out a badly muffled snicker. The fine hairs on the back of Jisung’s neck stand straight up as Chan _growls_ like some basic animal. 

“Don’t test me, Leif. Not tonight.”

Leif shrugs. “Fine.” He makes eye contact with Jisung, the side of his mouth twitching upwards.  
“How are you liking your fish?”

Before Jisung can even open his mouth to reply, there’s a long, slim blade embedding itself in the dark, lacquered wood of the dining table, scant inches from Leif’s pale hand. 

“ _Leif_ ,” Chan growls- next to Jisung’s ear, this time- and that’s when Jisung’s last frayed strand of patience snaps.

“Could you _control_ yourself?”

( “Oh, my,” Felix whispers delightedly, spoon raised halfway to his lips, “He’s _firey_.” 

Hyunjin steps on the chef’s foot. “And it might get him burned.” ) 

Jisung turns, palms raised to push Chan back- and oh, he’s so much closer to Jisung than expected. Their noses nearly brush, and Jisung can feel Chan’s breath-hot, smelling of mulled wine- on his lips. 

Even Chan seems taken aback. Jisung watches his long, dark eyelashes flutter ever so slightly, notices how the other man’s mouth goes slack. 

The _Blackbird_ pipes up, reassuring and calm. _Now, little creature_. 

Jisung speaks, and his voice is clear and cold, belying none of the fear twisting at his insides. 

“Are you aware of the concept of personal space?”

Chan’s dark brows furrow; Jisung watches the gold ring around his pupils dilate. “You’d do very well to speak to me with some respect on this ship, birdie.”

“I understand.” Jisung takes a deep, even breath. “Are you aware of the concept of personal space, _sir_?” 

And there it is again- that strange, shifting, rolling tension that seems to visibly ripple across the captain’s shoulders, twisting the expression on his face and sending off a dozen red flags in the back of Jisung’s brain. 

_Careful_ , the _Blackbird_ warns. 

He’s in the eye of the storm, now- there’s a curiously blank look in Chan’s eyes, even as the man reaches out to place a ring encrusted hand on Jisung’s shoulder. The palm of his hand is blisteringly warm. Jisung can feel the heat of Chan’s skin even through the relatively thick weave of his shirt. 

“I can’t decide whether you’re incredibly brave, or foolishly stupid.” 

“I have respect for myself and others ,” Jisung says quietly, carefully, “and I’d urge you to do the same.” 

“You’d do well not to lecture me on how to run _my_ ship,” Chan says, but withdraws his hand slowly, anger morphing into something less volatile. He turns to the silent crew. “Pirate code, section five: obey the captain’s orders.” 

“To be fair,” Felix pipes up, “Ten lashes just for talking to the little prince is a bit excessive.” There’s a hesitant round of head bobs and murmured agreement; Jisung watches a muscle in Chan’s jaw twitch. 

“Woojin?” 

The quartermaster tilts his head to one side. “Usually corporal punishment is doled out for mutiny or murders, sir. Not for talking to a child.” 

“I am _twenty-two_ ,” Jisung protests. Leif grins at him, eyes dancing. 

“Very grown up, little prince.” 

Chan hooks his thumbs into the loops of his belt, face red. Belatedly, Jisung realizes that Chan must be _embarrassed_ , having to do this in front of Jisung. “So that’s that, then? You all want me to withdraw my order?” 

More nodding. 

“That would be nice.” Eshe says. “I don’t think he’s very dangerous.”

Chan clicks his tongue and surveys the gathered crew for a while longer before turning back around. “Are you listening?”

Jisung nods. _It’s not as though I have a choice_. A sudden thought crosses his mind-there’s a metal knife on the table. All he needs to do is to grab it and reclaim the honour of is bloodline. Surely walking the plank is a nobler fate than whatever the captain has planned for him. 

He watches Chan’s eyes narrow. “They don’t see what I see, little birdie. They think you’re a sparrow with clipped wings- but we both know you’re more than that, yes?”

Jisung says nothing, the silence speaking for itself. Chan smiles thinly. “If you leave even a single scratch on any of my crew, I’m using you as chow for the creatures below deck. Are we clear?”

“Crystal,” Jisung replies, the word rolling bitter and loaded off of his tongue. “And in return, you keep your paws off of me.”

Chan turns to leave. “Good. I was getting tired of having to wash my hands afterwards.”

Dumbfounded, Jisung waits until the captain exits the mess hall before sitting back down in his seat with a _whump_. 

There’s a beat of suspended silence- and then a raucous round of laughter and applause, loud enough to make Jisung’s ears ring. 

Leif cackles and slaps Jisung soundly on the back, nearly sending him face first into his food. “You survived the first week, little prince! Welcome to the crew.”

Jisung chokes on his mulled wine. “I’m absolutely _not_ part of the crew.”

“Not _technically_ ,” Eshe clarifies, sliding next to Leif, plate in hand, “But unofficially? You’re one of us. No more sleeping in doc’s room- we’ll make you up a bunk with the rest of us.”

Leif nods in agreement and slides an entire slice of lemon into his mouth.

“I don’t want to _die_ , thanks,” Jisung replies, a little shocked. “And Seungmin’s bed is comfortable.”

Are they serious? Are these people really that willing to forget the circumstances which brought him aboard the ship and kept him here?

Eshe whistles, loud and sharp, and the crew falls silent once again. “Is anyone here planning on murdering the little lord in his sleep?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” Hyunjin calls back good-naturedly, cheeks flushed from both drink and heat. “We’re not total monsters.”

Eshe turns back to Jisung with what she probably thinks is a comforting look. “See? And should there be any issues-,” ( a dark, unfamiliar shadow crosses her face ) “- I’ll make sure that they’re taken care of.”

Pirates, Jisung reminds himself. Insane murderers, the lot of them. 

A small marble of dread hardens in his chest, glassy and reflective, because these people are speaking as though Jisung is going to be with them for a long, long time. 

The urgency from before causes Jisung to straighten up and shove his trembling hands under his the table. _As soon as we spot dry land, I’m gone_. All at once, and for the first time in a long time, he wants his mother.

The doctor appears, as if on cue. “Yes, and the bed is _mine_. It would be greatly appreciated if I could stop sleeping on the pull out sofa.” 

Jisung flushes. “Sorry. I’ll move.” 

Eshe beams at him. The humidity is strong, even at this late hour, and her already curly hair halos her face like a lion’s mane. “It’s better than the brig, I swear!”

»»————-　♔　————-««

It is, marginally. It’s also more cramped than the brig; hammocks and bunks are squeezed next to each other, utilizing as much space as possible.

Jisung swallows and tries not to think about just _how easy_ it would be for somebody to slit his throat in his sleep. 

Eshe hums and leads him to the very back of the room, where a bunk takes up most of one corner. “This one is the nicest. You’ll be next to me and Minho as well.” She climbs into her hammock and motions for him to sit down on his bunk. 

Jisung glances over at the figure- Minho, assumedly- in the cot next to his. The man is almost entirely wrapped up in tan blankets like a caterpillar cocooning itself; only the tip of his nose is visible. _How odd_ , Jisung thinks. _The people on this ship are either evil, or just so odd_. 

He clambers into the little bed. It’s surprisingly pleasant- the mattress must be stuffed with feathers of some kind, because it reminds Jisung of the bed in his room back home. The ache in his chest catches him off guard. 

Funny how a week ago, all he wanted to do was get away from Malagaea. Now all he wants to do is go _back_. 

Somebody pinches out the wrylitch, sending the cabin into a soft, semi-darkness. The only source of light comes from the circular portholes along the wall, and Jisung watches the even, straight beams of moonlight dance on the sleeping figures of the crew until his own eyes grow heavy. 

“Eshe,” he says eventually, “Do you miss your family?” 

It takes her a while to respond. “Yes,” Eshe replies, her voice hoarse. “Sometimes the missing hurts more than I can bear.” 

Minho shifts in his bed. “You’re not the only one who was brought onto the _Blackbird_ unwillingly, little prince.” 

Jisung turns over to face Minho, one arm propped under his pillow. “So why did you stay?” 

“Because it was a better place for me, even though I didn’t realize it at the time- or for a long time, really. Not all of us came here of our own volition, but we did stay because of it.” 

Jisung frowns. “But if Chan brought you on here-,” 

“It wasn’t Chan.” There’s a burr in Minho’s voice, careful and low. Jisung’s uncle spoke like that sometimes, when he was a little too immersed in the memories of his time at war.

“When I was brought on board the _Blackbird_ , both Chan and I were only fifteen.”

He remembers Eshe saying _there was another crew, before us- many years ago_ , and shivers. Maybe it’s the play of light and shadow, but there’s a haunted look in Minho’s eyes, something that speaks of locked boxes and hidden keys. 

This time, Jisung knows better than to press. “I am sorry,” he says instead, tone apologetic but not pitying. “If staying made you happy, I’m glad you did.” 

Minho hums softly and turns back around. Jisung watches his breathing even out, counts the seconds as the pirates shoulders relax bit by bit until the both of them fall asleep. 

Somewhere in between the witching hour and the first sliver of sun on the endless horizon, Jisung dreams.

It’s a dream unlike any other he’s experienced before. 

The waves lapping up against the bare skin of his ankles feels physical and real, and the light drizzle of rain falling from the milky grey sky tickles the nape of his neck. 

Confused, he looks around. This beach is pebbly and rocky, nothing like the fine white sand that Jisung is accustomed to. Driftwood is scattered along the shoreline, trunks bleached and stripped of bark.

Further inland, tall, green timbers tower towards the sky, dark and rustling, and unfamiliar flowers push up through the stones around Jisung’s leather-clad feet.

It’s only when Jisung spots the boy with the mask does he realizes he’s in the North. 

The boy can’t be more than six or seven, with gangly limbs and dark, neatly trimmed hair. The mask, covering everything but his brown eyes, is painted red to match his heavy, elaborate clothing.

Alone and crouched on the beach, he looks like a little god. 

“Hello!” Jisung calls out. The boy whirls around to face him, eyes wide. He draws a short, stubby knife from the sheath at his hip, his small hands barely able to wrap around the hilt of the weapon. 

“Who are you?” the boy asks loudly, his Universal thick and clumsy. “Don’t move, or I’ll kill you!” 

Jisung holds back the amused laugh threatening to spill out into the air. “I harbour no ill intent towards you. I am lost, and was wondering where the closest town or village might be.” 

The child eyes him warily. Jisung can see the cogs whirring inside his skull- that’s how hard the boy is thinking. Jisung watches as slides the knife back into its place in a single, fluid movement before responding. “There’s one about ten kilometres north. Leurasna- it’s the capital.” 

He points at a slim, worn dirt path that snakes off into the woods. ‘Take that path and don’t stray from it, and you’ll be there within the day.” 

Jisung nods and bows halfway at the waist in thanks, a relief that is not entirely his filling his bones. “Thank you. I am lucky that I ran into a fellow traveller.” 

The boy frowns. “I’m no traveller.” 

“Then what are you?” 

The boy looks back at the path, a dark cloud crossing his features. “I come from _there_.” 

Jisung opens his mouth to ask what the boy means, but his question is hidden under the sudden blare of war horns echoing through the woods, followed by the faint baying of hounds. 

The boy turns heel and runs, and all Jisung can do is watch him go until he’s nothing more than a faint smear of red standing out amongst all the grey. 

The horns, though, grow louder and louder still, burrowing into Jisung’s ears and making home there, until he’s forced to press his palms over them and-

“Don’t be an ass, Bembe.” 

Jisung slowly opens his eyes. There are three people standing over him- Eshe, Minho, and a familiar looking man whose name he doesn’t recognize. 

The man tucks away a small brass horn with a mischievous smile. “It’s just part of initiation, Eshe. He has a long day ahead of him.” 

Eshe rolls her eyes. “Johan, this is Bembe. Bembe, Johan.” 

Minho reaches over and begins to braid a strand of Jisung’s hair. Half-asleep and still disoriented from his lucid dream, Jisung lets him. He nods up at Bembe. “I didn’t see you yesterday.” 

The man winks, his dark hair long and loose. “That’s because I was out trading with merchants. I’m a very good haggler.” 

“Merchants?” Jisung repeats. “There’s no land for miles.” 

Bembe laughs, head thrown back. “Of course, of course! No, I trade with other kinds of merchants. Special ones. You’ll see eventually.” 

_Other kinds of merchants? Does he mean non-human ones_? The image of the siren lying on the deck flashes through his brain unbidden: once again, he considers sneaking back into the hold to try and get more information. 

_No,_ the _Blackbird_ says suddenly, voices agitated, _Don’t. Bad fish._

Jisung sighs. “Does _anyone_ else hear that?” 

Eshe and Minho exchange a confused glance and shake their heads, but Bembe smiles down at him knowingly, eyes dancing. “All the time, little lord. All the time.”

»»————-　♔　————-««

As it turns out, _initiation_ means that Jisung is to become part of the crew, and by _that_ Bembe means finding a job he’s the least terrible at.

Minho spends only ten minutes trying to teach him to shoot a bow and arrow before deeming him a lost cause. Leif attempts to teach Jisung how to adjust the rigging of the sails, but a boom to the head makes the both of them agree to never let him do that again. 

“Just make him mop the decks!” someone calls out. There’s a small round of laughter in response.

That laughter causes Jisung to turn red. It’s insane to be embarrassed about something like this, especially seeing as how some of the crew haven’t touched a bar of soap in years. 

Eshe passes Jisung a flask of water. “So… what can you do?” 

“Speak seven languages, read and write, paint, and fight with a sword,” Jisung says mulishly before taking a swig of water. “None of that seems useful here, though.” 

“Well, not on here,” Eshe admits. She hums for a moment, eyes scanning the blue, blue horizon. “So you can fight with a sword, huh? Have you ever tried using a swordbelt?” 

Jisung freezes. “No, because I don’t go around killing other people for one.” 

“Well, you’re in luck, because we have plenty! Mi Ying!” 

The Eastern woman turns away from the half-painted plank to look at them, bucket of tar in hand. When she speaks, her voice is lightly accented and mellow. “Yes?” 

Eshe twinkles. “Would you mind teaching Ji-er, Johan how to fight with a swordbelt?” 

Mi Ying drops the bucket and walks over, wiping her sticky hands on her trousers. She arches a thin eyebrow. “Does he know how to use a sword?” 

“He does,” Jisung affirms, and receives a slight smile from the woman in return. 

“Good. You should at least have the basics down. I’ll go grab a pair from the weapons room- one moment, please.” 

Jisung leans back against the railing. It’s clear and sunny again; he’s beginning to think that rain or clouds don’t exist over open water. “She doesn’t talk much, does she?” 

Eshe tosses a sliver of wood overboard and watches it hit the water below with a _plunk_. “Mi Ying? No, she’s very reserved. She’s kind, though, and the best swordswoman I’ve ever seen.” 

“She won’t go easy on you,” Hyunjin adds, walking by with a coil of rope slung over his shoulder. “I hope you can handle some bruises, little lord.” 

Jisung gestures rudely at him, and he laughs. “Now who taught you _that_?” 

_Taehyung_ , Jisung thinks. He wonders how Taehyung is dealing with the loss of his extended family, wonders if Taehyung knows that he’s alive and not lying under the rubble of his fire-torn home. 

He’s broken out of his thoughts by Mi-Ying, who holds out a swordbelt, the tattoos on her forearm shifting as her muscles tighten. “Here.” 

Jisung takes it. It’s lighter than he’d expected: the weight of it rests easily in his hands. _I thought swords forged from the dead would be heavier._

Mi-Ying unsheathes her own and settles into Waiting- the first fighting sequence of many. Her blade is as black as the night sky, with emeralds and small pearls inlaid into the leather-wrapped hilt. 

“First stance,” she orders, expression neutral, and Jisung complies, carefully pulling his own sword out of the metal sheath. His own blade is plainer, silver with a black leather handle. The moment he wraps his hands around the hilt of the blade, he can _feel_ the swordbelt like it’s a living, biological entity. 

There’s a buzzing running under his palms, and it takes him only a few short seconds to come to the conclusion that the swordbelt is _alive_.

“Different from a regular sword, yes?” 

Jisung clears his throat and looks up to meet Mi Ying’s level gaze. “Is it-?” 

“Yes,” she says again. “Does it bother you?” 

He slides one leg back into Waiting, the other bending at the knee to support his body weight. Even after a week without practice, his muscle memory does the work for him.

“It disgusts me,” Jisung admits, sinking into the pose. He doesn’t miss the small, satisfied smile on Mi Ying’s face or the gleam in her eyes as she appraises his form. 

“Good. That means you’re worthy enough to hold it.” With that, the Easterner shifts into Watching, her arms twisting until the sword is held level to her shoulders. “Let’s see what you can do.” 

_( “Let’s see what you can do!” Taehyung exclaims, passing Jisung his wooden sword. He’s sixteen, and Jisung is twelve. “Swordfighting runs in the family, you know- there’s not a Kim or a Han who can’t wield a blade.”_

_“Even me?” Jisung asks reverently, fingers tracing the worn, chipped practice sword. This had been Taehyung’s, and before that it had belonged Taehyung’s sisters and their fathers and their grandfathers._

_There have been several generations of Kim-Han hands on the leather hilt of this sword; when Jisung focuses he can almost feel like they’re standing next to him._

_Taehyung grins, big and boxy, and ruffles Jisung’s hair fondly. “Even you. Come on, I’ll show you the sequences.”_

_And he’d taken Jisung through all forty sequences, step by step, even though it takes the both of them the better part of the day and well into the evening. Jisung is sore, sweaty, and his palms are blistered, but the rightness running through his body makes all his pain fade away. “I like this!”_

_Taehyung laughs. “You should! You’re good at it. Let’s go clean those hands up and see if we can coax some dessert from Cook.”_

_Even now, the smell of metal and sweat reminds Jisung of Taehyung, summer days, and sweetened ice_. ) 

The most important thing Taehyung had taught him was the Looking.

Breathing slowly, Jisung steps into Calling, sword posed to strike. Mi Ying’s guard is exceptionally tight, and it’s difficult to see any weak spots. Jisung moves to the right, circling her slowly- and there, underneath her elbow, is a potential opening. 

He jumps into Rushing without even thinking, his body twisting and arcing the swordblade around in a half-circle, aiming straight for her side. Mi Ying just manages to slide out of the way, the tip of Jisung’s swordblade whistling through the air, bare centimetres away from her shirt. In retaliation she moves into Striking, hands and blade a blur as she kicks out his back leg and thrusts her blade down towards his chest. 

Jisung rolls to the right and watches from his peripheral vision as the tip of the swordblade drives into the wood, sending splinters flying everywhere. 

Someone whistles; Jisung is vaguely aware that a crowd has gathered but due to the tiny woman with the sword, is unable to see _who._

Despite the ferocity of Mi Ying’s fighting style, Jisung is calm, a lake made of glass. This is what has cemented his family as fighters: the ability to stay cool under pressure, to remain analytical and resourceful during battle or times of struggle. 

Mi Ying strikes again, towards his legs this time, and Jisung jumps, sword raised over his head. He jumps a good few feet into the air- adrenaline, probably, and hisses as the flat of Mi Ying’s sword skims the space beneath his feet. Jisung lands as blade swings down, and Mi Ying pulls hers up just in time for the two to clash, metal grating against metal. 

There’s sweat beading along Mi Ying’s forehead and temples. Her eyes are wild and alight with a fierce kind of fire, so unlike the composed mask of her face. Jisung can feel sweat rolling down the small of his back; his sword arm burns. 

“You are very good,” she muses, eyes crinkling up into a different kind of smile. “But you still have a lot to learn.” 

In one swift movement she disarms him and sends him to the ground with the butt of her swordbelt. She leans in, one hand pinning his sword hand to the deck of the ship. “Clearly you have the skills, but there are places you are lacking in. If you wish, I will teach you how to fight.”

“I would truly appreciate that,” Jisung breathes, a grin on his face. Mi Ying is faster that the Eastern winds, and perhaps with her help, he’ll be able to show Taehyung a new trick or two after all of this is over. 

She smiles in response, with teeth this time, and Jisung is fascinated to see that her canines have been sharpened to narrow points. He takes the hand she offers, and allows her to pull him up from the ground. 

Mi Ying turns to Eshe. “I’ll take him on.” 

Eshe nods, eyes wide. “Perfect- and Johan, I had no idea you could fight like that. I could barely see your hands and legs move.” 

“It runs in the family,” Jisung replies, instantly regretting the words once they come out of his mouth.

Woojin’s voice is a little too smooth for Jisung’s liking. “Which family are you from? That fighting style you used looks familiar.” 

Jisung spins around to see what must be half the crew gathered there. Their faces range from shocked to grudgingly impressed: clearly, they weren’t expecting him to be anything more than a soft, milk-fed servant. He schools his face into something less frozen before responding. “I doubt you’d know them. We weren’t very affluent. My father was a swordsmith; he taught all his children how to fight.” 

“Your accent sounds rather affluent,” Woojin points out mildly. 

Jisung digs his thumbnail into the fleshiest part of his palm. “Yes, because I lived most of my life working under the royal family you murdered. Any more questions?” 

The look in Woojin’s eye reminds Jisung as to why he doesn’t trust the quartermaster. “No.” 

Jisung stares at Woojin until _he_ breaks eye contact first. Satisfied, he strolls back over to Eshe. His back and arms are going to burn terribly tomorrow, but it’s the kind of pain he doesn’t mind at all.

Eshe, Felix, and Minho are playing a card game of some sort, the cards themselves well-worn and dog-eared. “What’s this?” 

Minho looks up, several cards cradled protectively to his chest. “Piquet. Care to join in?” 

“I’ve never heard of it, but I might as well.” Jisung settles onto the deck, wincing as the wooden floor presses against one of his many new bruises. Felix catches him flinching and hums sympathetically.

“I’ve never seen anyone go up against Mi Ying like that. You’re pretty damn skilled.” 

Jisung dips his head. “I had a very good teacher.” 

Since Piquet is a two-person game, Eshe and Felix play while Minho explains the basics. It’s fairly simple- a lot of exchanging of words and quick thinking. Jisung is just cutting the deck when there’s a rustling in the sails above them, and then two words that make his heart stop in his chest: 

“ _Land ho_!” 

“Which side?” Eshe yells back. 

Bembe’s grinning face appears from the crows nest. “Starboard!” 

All actions and conversations abruptly cease. The crew rushes over to the starboard side of the ship, chattering excitedly. Eshe says something to him, but Jisung is unable to hear her voice over the sound of his pulse thundering in his ears. 

_This is too soon_. He doesn’t really have a plan in place, hasn’t decided quite on how he’s going to kill Chan yet. 

“Are we going to stop there?” Jisung asks. His voice sounds thin and strange, even to his own ears. 

Eshe hesitates. “Yes. It’s Kie- a large trading outpost and market. Safe for people like us.” 

_Like us?_ Jisung manages a strained laugh. “Guess I won’t be going with you guys.” 

“Probably not,” Eshe admits, brow furrowed. “Are you unwell? You’re very pale.” 

“I think I’m going to lie down,” Jisung says. “My head hurts.” He stands up and walks towards the stairs, the weight of the three pirates heavy on his shoulders. He takes his time, moving slowly, and when he turns around they too have moved over to the starboard side of the ship, their backs to him. 

_Now_ , the _Blackbird_ says. _Move_. The ship guides him up the stairs to the stern end of the ship, until he’s pressed right up against the little railing there. 

“What am I doing here?” Jisung asks, confused. 

_Wait_ , the _Blackbird_ sighs. There’s something melancholy about the voices. _One chance_. 

Jisung scans the horizon, hands clutching the rail of the ship tightly. There’s nothing to see on this side of the ship- just water, water, always the same damn _water_ -

“ _Psst_.” 

Jisung looks around, startled. _Am I hearing other things, now_? 

“Look down!” 

He does. There, bobbing in the water, is the _nix_ from before. “Eunha,” he recalls. “What are you doing here?” 

Eunha sticks her tongue out at him playfully. “What do _you_ think? Trying to get my maker back.” 

_The siren_ , Jisung realizes. _She’s trying to free the siren_. She’s been tracking the ship for days. This must be the chance the _Blackbird_ spoke of. 

He leans over the railing, heart beating erratically. “Look- Eunha. I don’t want to be on this ship, and I’m willing to make a deal.” 

Eunha swims closer, clearly interested. “Deal?” 

Jisung nods. “Yes. I’m a very important person in the human world. If you promise to take me to the island over there-,” he points at the faint land mass in the distance- “-without killing me or eating me, I swear on all the gods I worship that I will free your maker, and kill the Wolf of the West.” 

“Usually, I don’t trust your kind,” Eunha says, arms crossed. “However, I am desperate, and you are not tainted like the rest of them. I agree to your terms.” 

Jisung exhales a shaky sigh of relief. “Thank you.” 

Eunha gestures at the water around her, her long tail flicking up water. “We have little time. Jump in.” 

Jisung hesitates. “How do I know that you will not kill me?” 

Eunha smiles widely, all tooth, and Jisung shivers. “You’ll just have to take my word. _Nix_ do not lie, and we do not like breaking promises.” 

“Jisung?” Felix calls. “What are you doing?”  
_Now!_ the _Blackbird_ cries. 

“By the _gods_ ,” Jisung mutters, and leaps over the side of the boat, falling towards the water below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who ( it's me! dumb bitch! back a-gain!) 
> 
> i used the otp:true filter on the 3racha tag and it turns out that there are only 16 3racha-centric fics. 16. SIXTEEN. how criminal. anyways! hope u enjoyed, lemme know what u think! 
> 
>  
> 
> [ twitter ](https://twitter.com/?logout=1562985735699)


	4. tripping over landlines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In that single, breathless moment, Jisung realizes that an epic is being formed right in front of his eyes. 
> 
> _Watch_ , the _Blackbird_ says, and he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah hi
> 
> i was planning on updating earlier but. all that stuff happened and i just didn't feel like it, you know? but i'm here now and in case u were wondering: woojin will continue to be in my fics. it doesn't feel right without him <3
> 
> ( and btw to clear things up, the crew call jisung "little lord'" and "little prince" because they think that he's a servant from the castle. they don't know about him actually being royalty and i think that's kinda Funny ) 
> 
> anyways, enjoy!

Jisung has never learned how to swim, despite having been brought up next to the ocean. 

_ Water is not safe for us,  _ his mother says, and Jisung nods, eyes scanning the churning waves from the balcony of his mother’s chambers.  _ Get too close, and it’ll swallow you whole and leave nothing left for the fish.  _

As Jisung hits the water, he wonders what his mother would say now.  _ You’re a fool,  _ probably, or the well-worn  _ you’re truly your father’s son.  _

The ocean embraces him, cold and salty and undeniably  _ alive;  _ it shocks Jisung so greatly that he sucks in a breath, pulling briny water into his lungs. 

For a moment he panics- which way is up? Which way is down?- but then there are slippery, warm hands on his arms, pulling him sideways, and a voice in his ear as he breaks above the waves and coughs and heaves. “Easy, now. You can’t die  _ that  _ quickly, little man.” 

“Yes,” Jisung splutters, very aware of the luminescent scales glittering against Eunha’s collarbones and the gills fluttering against the sides of her neck. “We both have a promise to keep.” 

Amusement flashes in her purple eyes. “Yes, we do. Hold on tight, fellow friend. I move fast.” 

Jisung barely manages to wrap his arms around her neck as Eunha flicks her tail and propels the both of them forward with impossible speed, cutting through the water as smoothly as one would slide their hand against glass. 

“Johan!” Someone yells, and Eunha pauses just enough for the both of them to look up. Felix stands on the prow of the  _ Blackbird,  _ brows pinched and eyes terrified. Behind him stands Chan, stony faced and silent. “Johan,” Felix pleads, voice breaking, “Don’t go. You  _ can’t.”  _

Jisung says nothing, and watches the two figures recede into the distant, one very still and the other shaking in a strange, unnatural way. 

Wind and sea spray whips across his face; his fingers slide against the scale-smooth skin of Eunha’s waist and he flushes at the improperty of it all. Nix culture probably doesn’t apply to human culture, seeing as they all go around topless anyways regardless of gender-

_ Enough.  _

Eunha makes a low warbling sound in her throat. “Where are we going, little friend?” 

“To land,” Jisung states, pointing out towards the rapidly growing island. “I just need to find a port or a trading post- I can signal for help from there.”

“If you say so,” Eunha hums, and flicks her powerful tail to the side- they must be moving almost as quickly as the  _ Blackbird  _ itself.  _ No wonder she was able to track the ship all this time.  _ “Your- ah- friend. Does he also speak Universal like you?” 

Eunha is silent for a long moment; Jisung worries that he might have offended her. “My master predates the creation of Universal. But yes, he speaks it.” 

This siren must be very, very old, then- Universal nearly coincides with the creation of the universe, if the reports are to be believed. Jisung narrowly avoids swallowing a mouthful of briny water as they crest a wave towards shore. 

“You are trembling.” 

Jisung laughs. “The water is cold, and humans are not naturally built with protection against that.” 

The nix shakes her head slowly, a gleam of amusement in her strange eyes. “You meatbags are so flawed. There are so many things that hurt you.” 

“We can’t be that different.” 

“No known blade can penetrate my skin.” 

“Oh,” Jisung says. “That’s definitely- yes.” 

Eunha smiles, and there are those long, sharp teeth again. She glances over her shoulder, and Jisung watches as that smile falters.  “I think your friends are following.” 

Jisung turns, heart in his throat- and oh. The  _ Blackbird  _ is several hundred metres behind them, fore end of the ship pointed straight at them. They’re close enough that Jisung can make out little black specks moving on the deck of the ship. He tightens his hold on Eunha, tone pleading. “Please, move faster.” 

“You are better than them,” Eunha says, and  _ twists  _ her body so that the two of them crest through the air, mimicking the rise and fall of a wave. Jisung closes his eyes and sucks in a breath of air before they hit the water at an angle, sliding through it smoothly like glass before exploding out to repeat the same movements. 

_ Like a skipping stone.  _

The island comes into focus in front of them: on one side is vegetation and tall, spindly trees, while the other is wooden buildings and a small but bustling port with several ships docked there. “I will wait here,” Esha declares, and heads toward a small overhang of rock on the forested side of the island. “Please do not die.” 

“No promises,” Jisung gasps, relinquishing his hold around Eunha’s waist and wading towards shore on shaky, numb legs. The chill starts to set in as he moves fully out of the water and onto the beach. Shivering, he turns around. The  _ Blackbird  _ moves towards the port, fast and assured. Jisung thinks of the look in Chan’s eyes and is unable to control the full body shudder that passes through him. 

_ There is something not right with him.  _

All he has to do is to talk to whatever authorities are on this island before the crew of the  _ Blackbird  _ does, and then this entire nightmare will be over. If he’s lucky, there might be enough home left on Malagaea to salvage. The thought of that spurs Jisung into a sprint towards the little town, his bare feet sinking into the fine white sand. 

He’s wobbly- it’s almost as though his legs aren’t used to land after so many days at sea. Jisung is almost unsettled at how stable the ground is, how it doesn’t rock back and forth. He finds a dirt path and follows it towards the columns of chimney-smoke on the horizon. With every step he takes he feels lighter; he’s so close to freedom that he can nearly taste it on his tongue, sweet and warm. 

The first person he sees is a little boy playing on the street. Jisung must be wild-eyed or moving like a dead man walking- or both- because the boy takes one look at him, gasps, and skitters into the nearest shanty. He bites his lip and speaks through the door. “Hello? I’m just looking for the authorities. I apologize if my appearance alarms you. ” 

The door creaks open a crack; a big brown eyes eyes him warily. “They’re at the tavern at this time of day,” the boy whispers. “Best not to talk when they’re sober.” 

Before Jisung can comprehend that oddity of that sentence, the door is closed again and he’s left on the street, sopping wet and shivering.  _ The tavern it is, then.  _

It takes some wandering up the quiet streets to locate the building, but he finds it eventually.  _ The Grey Owl?  _ Jisung eyes the painted wooden sign, hesitation numbing the tip of his tongue.  _ Just do it.  _ He sucks in a deep breath and pushes open the hefty oaken doors. 

He sets one foot inside the room, and it falls silent. A couple dozen pair of eyes swing his way; Jisung feels himself shrinking under them. The inside of the tavern is nice enough- all mahogany paneling and clean tables- but the people don’t look friendly at all. A row of men in uniform sit along the bar, their backs to him. 

Jisung feels for his swordbelt and is alarmed to find it missing.  _ It must have fallen out when I jumped off the Blackbird.  _

The bartender raises a bushy eyebrow. “What do you want, boy?” 

Jisung startles and clears his throat. “I- I seek refuge. I’ve been kidnapped.” 

One of the uniformed men perks up and sets his tankard on the ledge of the bar. 

“Haven’t heard that story before,” the bartender replies drily. “I get one of you urchins in here ‘bout every day. Desperate for a drink, you are.” 

Jisung lifts his chin. “I’ve been kidnapped by pirates. I leapt off their boat and came ashore. If the officials of this town were able to aid me in getting home, there would be a hefty reward.”

A cool, even voice cuts through the tense atmosphere. “You have my attention. Which alleged pirates took you?” 

“The crew of the  _ Blackbird,”  _ Jisung replies, nodding to the speaker, a young man in uniform. The man pauses, fingers curled loosely around his tankard. 

“The  _ Blackbird,  _ you say?” 

“Yes.”

The rest of the guard have turned to face Jisung, now, something like disbelief in their expressions.

“You wouldn’t happen to go by Johan, would you?”

Jisung nearly crumples with relief.  _ Someone is looking for me.  _ Could it be Johan? His relatives? _Taehyung_? “I have been, yes- how did you know?”

The man smiles thinly and point at the far wall. “It says right there.” 

Confused, Jisung leans over. A small, confused noise tumbles past his lips, for he’s looking at an almost perfect drawing of himself. Lettered above the drawing is WANTED: ALIVE, FOR MURDER AND TYRANNY OF THE MOST HEINOUS KIND. 

Jisung feels as though he might pass out. “This doesn’t- what on  _ earth-,”  _

“You are Kal Johan, pirate and murderer.” the man intones flatly, standing and pulling out a sleek, silver pistol. “Under the authority of the power bestowed upon me by the four realms, I place you under arrest.”  

“You have the wrong person,” Jisung argues, hands held out in front of him. “If you would just let me explain-,”

“This island used to belong to you pirates,” the officers says conversationally, spinning the pistol between his hands until it’s a silver blur. “But not anymore. You bastards come ashore almost every day, ignorant to the fact that this island belongs to the Queen, now. Get on your hands and knees.” 

Jisung sucks in a deep breath, fighting back the wave of panic threatening to roll him over. “Listen to me. I am not Kal Johan. I am Han Jisung, first in line for the Malagaen throne. My mother is Han Emilia, white bird of the eastern skies, and my father was Han Yoora, bear of the west. I was taken by pirates-,” 

Someone laughs, and then a blunt, round object is crashing into the side of his head, sending sparks of pain through his head and behind his eyes. G _ ods,  _ Jisung thinks, faintly aware that someone is dragging him.  _ This has been a terrible mistake.  _

***

“The boy doesn’t look like a murderer. Aren’t they usually uglier?” 

“He doesn’t look like a pirate, either.” 

“No, I’ve seen some pirates that were prettier than me wife.” 

“...Huh.” 

Jisung hisses through his teeth and clumsily raises a palm to his throbbing temple.  _ I am getting very tired of being hit over the head.  _

“Ah, he’s awake. Boy, can you hear me?” 

“Ugh,” Jisung says. If he squints, he can make out the distorted shapes of three figures leaning over him, features identical.  _ Oh- that’s just one person.  _ “Yes.” 

The man grunts and straightens up, arms crossed. He's handsome in a vaguely oily way. "Good. That means we can finally have a chat."

“His eyes are so  _ odd _ ,” someone whispers. 

Jisung sticks his chin out. “I am innocent. You have the wrong person.” 

The man sighs and pours himself a glass of wine. He too is in a blue uniform, but the scar bisecting his right eyes ruins the image of cleanliness. “You would _not_ believe how often I've heard that.” 

“I’m being serious," Jisung insists, panic surging through him. "I'm royalty!" 

The man laughs at that. “I hear that all the time, boy. My boys brings pirate after pirate in here, each one of them singing the same little tune.” He leans in, eyes dark and wineglass forgotten. “And I kill them all the same.” 

A single cold bead of sweat slides down Jisung’s neck. “Excuse me, but who are you?” 

The man smiles; with a little thrill of horror Jisung realizes that his teeth have all been replaced completely with gold. “Oh, you have manners! My name is Khadra, senior chief of the Queen’s police.” He fiddles with the large knife strapped around his waist. “And I eat little pirates like you for lunch.” 

_ This isn’t good.  _ Somehow, people  _ off  _ the  _ Blackbird  _ are worse than the ones  _ on  _ it. Jisung struggles to compose himself. “I have the monarch’s mark. Is that not evidence enough?” 

Khadra tilts his head, eyes glinting. “Do you, now?”

“Yes,” Jisung replies, voice wavering. “On my upper thigh.” 

The myth goes something like this. The gods, puzzling over a way to make sure that their direct descendants were treated well on the planet they were sent to, came up with a simple idea: to press a little of their magic into the skin of their children. The magic stuck to one spot, creating a strange iridescent pattern on their children’s skin. The monarch’s mark, as it has come to be called, passes down through mothers to their children. 

And Jisung has his- in fact, he has  _ two.  _ He will not be informing Khadra of his second mark. 

“Well, then,” Khadra says silkily, rolling up  his sleeves and pulling off his leather gloves. “We’ll see about that.” 

Something plummets in Jisung’s stomach. Never before has he felt so rabbit-frozen in the presence of another man; everything within him screams at him to get away from the wolf in human skin before him. 

In one swift, heavy movement, Khadra reaches out and grips one of Jisung’s ankles. Jisung hisses and kicks at the officer’s chest. “Hold  _ still,”  _ Khadra orders, the grin sliding off of his face. “I wouldn’t want to accidentally cut through your leg instead of your trousers. It would be  _ such  _ a shame.” 

Jisung watches as the older man slides a whalebone blade from the sheath at his side. It’s rare to see the Queen’s men armed with anything but swordbelts these days. He itches to slide into fighting stance, but his swordbelt is lying on the deck of the  _ Blackbird.  _ “I can just show you myself.” 

Khadra smiles thinly, his grip almost bruising. “And what fun would that be?” 

Something bubbles under Jisung’s skin, light and hot. It’s a different kind of rage- it’s one that makes him shiver and shake all over.  _ I would kill you,  _ he thinks, and then everything goes to hell. 

A cannonball slams through the window and embeds itself into the far wall, taking four officers and a table with it. Both Khadra and Jisung freeze as splinters rain down around them, Khadra’s hand still wrapped around Jisung’s ankle.  The faintest scent of gunpowder and smoke wafts past Jisung’s face. 

_ You’re here,  _ the  _ Blackbird  _ hums, and Jisung hates himself for the relief that surges through him. “Yes,” he says hoarsely, “I am.” 

Khadra gives him a curious look and withdraws his hands. “You stay here, boy. I’ll deal with this.” The chief fishes around in one of the upended drawers and pulls out a dull set of handcuffs. 

“ _ Please,”  _ Jisung implores, fingers curling into the skin of his palms. “Don’t do this.” 

Khadra grins. “You need to stay here so we can take you to the Queen’s Court for trial- but death by cannon-fire is not the worst method of punishment one could face.” 

“Bastard,” Jisung hisses, and kicks the taller man in the kneecap. The whalebone blade slides across his leg, drawing blood, but Jisung has no time to focus on the pain.  Khadra grunts and staggers backwards, offering Jisung enough time to lunge for the splintered door. 

“You’ll pay for that, boy,” Khadra calls, voice tight, and Jisung throws a middle finger up in the air as he darts through the blistered doorway and into a tight series of hallways. It’s a sea of blue uniforms; nobody seems to have any spare time or attention to give to the strange boy with no shoes. 

Jisung presses himself to the far wall and goes with the flow, following a group of officers down a narrow series of corridors leaning upwards. The smell of salt and sea grows heavier and heavier- and then Jisung sees light, gold and white. Relief surges through him; he sprints the last couple metres through the corridor. 

And what he sees makes him freeze in place. He’s emerged on a beach on the other side of the  island. White sand stretches ahead of him; above him, black glossy cliffs loom up into the clouds. 

The  _ Blackbird  _ sits in the water, motionless, as a single figure walks through the waves to shore. 

In that single, breathless moment, Jisung realizes that an epic is being formed right in front of his eyes. 

_ Chan,  _ the  _ Blackbird  _ murmurs, and Jisung shivers. “I know.” 

_ No. Watch.  _

“He’s going to get himself killed,” Jisung whispers, watching the guard take up a defensive position, boots sinking into the sand. “There’s too many of them- and he’s not even  _ armed.”  _

_ Watch. _

He does. Chan strides ashore, seawater rolling down his arms and legs. He is quiet. A woman with a marshal’s seal stamped on her blue uniform raises her arm, screams something. Chan swings his head over to her and stares. She falters. 

This is not Chan, the pirate. It’s not Chan, the captain, either. This is something else entirely. Jisung makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat, and Chan shouldn’t be able to hear him from this distance- he  _ can’t-  _ but the captain turns all the same, catches Jisung’s gaze with his own. 

Chan takes a step in Jisung’s direction. 

_ Oh my god,  _ Jisung thinks hysterically.  _ Either he’s going to die- and I with him, or he’s going to get me and kill me himself.  _

_ Dramatic,  _ the  _ Blackbird  _ chides. The marshal drops her fist, and the beach explodes with sound as what must be one hundred guardsmen rush at Chan, swordbelts reflecting the mid-afternoon sun. 

Jisung expects Chan to run, or draw a weapon, or speak. He does none of that. Instead, he smiles. And then he explodes. 

There’s no better way to describe it. Jisung’s brain works overtime to process the way Chan simultaneously implodes and expands. The force of it sends the closest officers flying back like ragdolls. It strips the closest trees of their leaves.

Jisung takes a hesitant step forward. 

_ See?  _ The  _ Blackbird  _ crows, and Jisung nods. “Yes,” he breathes. “I do.” 

In Chan’s place stands a wolf, golden brown and massive. It’s the size of a mountain bear- maybe bigger. There’s a split second of absolute silence before the screaming starts. The officers start running again-  _ away  _ from Chan, this time. Towards Jisung. 

“Oh,  _ hell,”  _ Jisung spits, and breaks out in a sprint, running perpendicular to the cliff walls. His bare feet sink into the fine sand, slowing his progress.  _ Chan is the wolf.  _ The bouts of shivering that accompany the captain’s rage make sense, now- perhaps that was Chan doing his best to keep his other form inside of him. There are a lot of implications surrounding Chan’s wolfism that Jisung can’t really keep up with right now. 

“Where you goin’, little pirate?” 

Jisung shouts as two very, very large hands reach under his armpits and lift him up into the air, feet dangling. “Let me  _ go,”  _ he insists to the extremely tall officer, who sneers at him. 

“And let you scamper off? I don’t think so. You’ll be a very good bargaining chip in the Court- or a nice bedwarmer, at the very least. Yer pretty, for a pirate.” The man smiles and chucks Jisung under the chin. Jisung resists the urge to vomit. 

He’s about to go for the officer’s eyes with his fingers when the man’s head just… disappears. One second he’s there, and the other he’s just… not. There’s just a stump, and a surprising amount of blood. Jisung makes a squeaking noise as the fingers slacken and then loosen completely, dropping him onto the beach. 

Dazed, Jisung looks to his left.  _ Oh. There’s the head.  _

A shadow falls over him, followed by a low rumble. Jisung swallows, hard, and looks up. The wolf-Chan- stands there, human eyes set in an animal’s face. There’s rage there, so deep and cold that it makes Jisung flinch backwards. 

The wolf dips his head, scans him over, and pauses at the cuts on his leg and the bruises on his upper arms. Something in his eyes softens- or maybe Jisung’s just in shock and delusional- and he jerks his head. 

“What?” Jisung rasps. Chan rolls his eyes and twitches his shoulders. Jisung narrows his eyes and swallows a borderline hysterical giggle. “You want me to… get on? Ride you?” 

The look Chan shoots him is an irritated one. Jisung holds up his hands. “Very well.” He tries to stand up, but it’s as though his legs are made of dough. He simply collapses again. He looks up at Chan with wide, confused eyes. “It seems as though I’m unable to stand?” 

Chan shakes his big wolf head and sinks down onto the beach. “Okay,” Jisung says shakily. “Yes, I suppose that’s better.” It takes a few tries, but eventually he’s able to slide onto Chan’s back. It’s strange- in some ways, it’s like riding a horse, but Chan is far more muscular and bulky than one. 

Chan stands; Jisung muffles a startled noise and grips two tight handfuls of honeyed fur. 

“ _ Christopher!”  _

Jisung can feel all of Chan’s muscles bunch and tense under him. The wolf turns slowly in the sound of the voice. Khadra stands on one of the bluffs, arms crossed and smile wide. It’s predatory. 

“I’ve found you again, boy!” Khadra yells. “It’s only a matter of time. You’re due home, you know.”

Chan snarls, the strength of it sliding through his whole body, and  _ runs away.  _ Jisung twists around as they hit the water, and watches Khadra watch them. 

_ There’s still time,  _ he thinks wildly, his thoughts scattering.  _ You could jump off, and call for Eunha.  _ He won’t though, because now it seems as though the sea is safer for him than land. At least he won’t be arrested and murdered on the  _ Blackbird.  _

_ Might not be,  _ he corrects, staring down at the other- Chan.  _ I could be made into dog food.  _

Jisung laughs into the wind, shoulders shaking, and then he cries quietly into the palm of his hand. Chan’s ears swivel towards him, but he says nothing. Because he can’t. 

»»————-　♔　————-««

 

Chan leaps aboard the ship, Jisung clutching the scruff of his mane tightly. He shakes himself of seawater, tenses, and explodes again- this time with much less force. It ruffles Jisung’s hair, and he takes a step back- but Chan is Chan-the-captain again, human and sopping wet and  _ thunderous.  _

“Captain,” someone- Mi-Ying- calls, tone sharp, “Please don’t-,” 

She’s too late. The captain lunges at him. Jisung winces, but Chan doesn’t yell at him  _ or  _ turn him into dog kibble. Instead, he pulls Jisung into a hug- brief and a little too tight, but a hug all the same. It makes Jisung’s brain short out, because Chan is warm and shaking a little, and he might whisper something as he pulls away that Jisung doesn’t quite catch. 

( If he were to guess, it might have been something like  _ sorry.)  _

The crew is silent, now. This is not something they see every day- not something that they’ve seen,  _ ever.  _

Chan pulls back but doesn’t back away. He slides his hands down Jisung’s arms, inspecting them carefully. His fingers are calloused and wet. “Did they do anything to you?” Jisung stares at him blankly. There’s a catch in the captain’s voice that he doesn’t like. 

Chan gives him a little shake, his voice hoarse. “ _ Did they do anything to you?”  _

“N-no,’ Jisung replies. “Not really.” 

Chan hisses and bends down, inspecting the long, thin cut on Jisung’s calf. Jisung tenses as one of his fingers accidentally drifts over his clothed mark. “What does that mean?” 

Jisung licks his lips. “I don’t- they didn’t  _ do  _ anything, if that’s what you want to know, they  _ tried-  _ why are you able to turn into a wolf?” 

Chan looks up at him through dark eyelashes, and Jisung’s breath hitches in his chest. Someone steps forward and places a hand on Chan’s shoulder. “I think we should let Seungmin check him out,” Felix says softly. “And you need to go calm down.” 

Chan shrugs off Felix’s hand and walks off. Woojin follows close behind, visibly concerned. 

“Johan?” Felix squats down, eyes kind. “Are you okay?” 

Jisung stares at him and fights down the urge to cry. “Ye- I don’t know. I’m sorry.” 

Felix reaches out a hand; Jisung takes it and allows himself to be pulled to his feet. “You have nothing to apologize for. I would have done the same, were I in your position.” 

Eshe pushes through the rest of the crew and tentatively catches one of Jisung’s hands. “I would’ve helped you leave, you know. There’s no need to make a deal with a  _ naid  _ and jump ship. 

“Little birdie, that’s mu-tiny,” Minho singsongs. “Which, after our diminutive captain, is my favourite kind of  _ tiny.”  _

Leif raises a bushy eyebrow. “That was terrible joke.” 

Jisung manages a small smile. 

“ _ There  _ we go,” Minho cooes, stepping closer to pull at one of Jisung’s cheeks gently. “Looks like we haven’t lost our little lord after all.” 

“Look,” Felix says, cheeks a little flushed. “We’re terrible people in the eyes of the law, but we’re not  _ monsters,  _ you know. If you really, really want to go home, we’ll cut the mission short and take you.” 

Jisung looks around. “What mission?” 

The crew falls silent. “Well,” Seungmin mutters, “Now you’ve done it.” He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and pulls open the door. “Come on. We’ll explain everything once I get you all patched up.” 

»»————-　♔　————-««

 

”Did you see that?” Bembe whispers, expression contemplative. “Ya know, the last time the captain hugged someone it was to stick a knife between their shoulder blades.” The man tugs on one of his braids contemplatively. 

Hyunjin nods and leans against the mast. “I don’t think he’s ever- well, I think that it’s probably a good thing. He hasn’t been the same since-,” 

“I know,” Bembe says. He looks up at Hyunjin with a grin. “Think we have a chance of getting the old captain back?” 

Hyunjin hums and peers over the edge of the crow’s nest. Below, the waves churn, and ahead there is nothing but the sun chasing the horizon line. For the first time in a long time, he allows himself to  _ hope.  _ “You can never get anything that once was back.” He twists his sleeve around his tattooed wrist. “But you can grow into something more than you are now.” 

_ Maybe Johan can help with that.  _

It’s not certain, of course, but it’s possible. It’s within reach, and that’s all that Hyunjin wants: for all of them to get out of this happy and alive. 

“I hate it when the two of you go up there,” Minho calls up, leaning on his bow with a faintly perturbed expression. “I bet you gossip about us all.” 

“We do,” Hyunjin says teasingly. “Why don’t you come up and gossip with us?” 

Minho makes a face. “You know how I feel about heights.” 

Woojin walks by with a length of rope, eyes twinkling. “That’s the perfect plot for a comedy play: a pirate who can’t climb, or help with the rigging, or-,” 

“I will shoot you,” Minho informs Woojin casually. “I could do it right now.”

“And then who would your eye candy be?” Bembe hollers, eliciting a solid round of catcalls and laughter from the rest of the crew. Minho flushes and draws his bow, aiming it directly for Bembe’s forehead. 

Satisfied, Woojin grins and carries on. 

»»————-　♔　————-««

Seungmin smiles and pats Jisung’s leg lightly. “Okay! All done. Just don’t get the plaster wet for the next few days, alright?” 

“I won’t,” Jisung mumbles, eyelids heavy. He’s tired- exhausted down to his very bones- but the talk of a  _ mission  _ and his thoughts about Chan keep him awake. The wolf-shifting thoughts, not the hugging ones.  _ Why are you thinking about that? Stop it.  _

“Can you explain everything now?” 

The doctor huffs out a short laugh and places his gauze on the dresser. “I can’t explain everything, unfortunately- even pirate folk are held under contract.” He fiddles with the strings of his shirt nervously. “However, I can take you to someone who can talk freely. You just can’t tell anyone that I took you.” 

“That is fine,” Jisung agrees. “If I’m going to be here- if I’m going to live like this, for however long, I do not want to be the only one in the dark.” 

Seungmin shoots him a fond look. “Makes sense to me. One second.” The taller man walks over to the doorway and peers around the corner. “Eshe, Felix- I know you two are spying. Come and take him below deck. I think it’s high time that he’s told the truth.” 

There’s snickering, and the sound of scuffling. Eshe peers around the corner, her frizzy curls belying her position. “Fine. Does the captain know?” 

“...No,” Seungmin admits. “But he’s probably sleeping right now- getting his energy back- and I don’t think he’ll mind at this point.” 

“Well,” Felix chirps, strolling into the room with both hands in the pockets of his trousers, “It’s  _ your  _ head on a platter, not mine. Let’s go, Johan!” 

Jisung accepts the offered hands, and allows Eshe and Felix to lead him down several sets of stairs. The inside of the  _ Blackbird  _ seems much larger than the exterior- the product of ancient, forgotten magic, no doubt.  Seungmin finds himself getting more and more on edge the further down they go. Bottles of  _ wrylihgt  _ mounted to the walls provide eerie, watery lighting, further adding to Seungmin’s case of nerves. 

The three of them stop in front of a plain wooden door. “We can’t say anything,” Felix whispers, “But be polite. Shouldn’t be hard for you.” 

Eshe nods, curls bouncing around her face. “And, Johan- don’t make any deals.” 

“I understand,” Jisung says unevenly, and reaches out for the doorknob. He turns it and steps inside. He can walk- he’s just a bit wobbly. The door closes behind him with a soft  _ click.  _

“Ah, another visitor.” 

The voice is soft and nasal, and the magic in it roots Jisung’s feet into the floor. Jisung shudders and keeps one hand on the doorknob. 

“I’m not going to bite. You can turn around- I’m not t _ hat _ terrifying to look at.” 

_ That’s not what I’m afraid of,  _ Jisung thinks, magic thick and coppery on his tongue, and turns around. He promptly sinks to his knees, because the man in front of him is no man at all. “You’re very beautiful,” he whispers, and flushes when the siren smiles. Like Eunha, his teeth are sharp. 

_ Is this who Eunha wanted me to save?  _ Jisung can’t quite believe that, because the siren doesn’t seem like he  _ wants  _ to leave. He’s lounging on the floor, tail just out of the water that makes up half of the room. There are small jewels and shells braided into sections of his hair, and his skin glows a faint lilac colour.

Jisung sucks in a breath.  _ It’s you.  _

(  _ Chan straightens up, smile wide. “It’s a siren, birdie. One of the rarest creatures on this rock we live on. In many ways, it’s like the nix we kept below deck- you met her, I’m sure- but this one is much, much older.” ) _

_ ( Eunha nods. “My maker is like me. But different. The Wolf likes strange, unique things. Anyone else is just discardable.” )  _

“Did Chan send you?” 

Jisung’s head snaps up. The siren’s beauty is disconcerting. “Pardon? Ah- no. I was told that you could tell me the truth.” 

“I can,” the siren replies silkily, propping himself up on his elbows. “For a price.” 

“I was told not to make any deals with you.” 

The siren smiles, eyes crinkling up at the corners. “A smart warning. Our contracts last longer than yours. No, I’m not looking for a deal. Just a trade.” 

Jisung takes a few hesitant steps closer. “A trade?” 

“Yes,” the siren says, yellow eyes clear. “An exchanging of names. Mine for yours. What do you think?” 

Jisung mulls it over. “That sounds fine.” 

“Good.” The siren sticks out a slightly webbed hand. “My true name is  _ sanyjafjallaujokull,  _ but you can call me Changbin.” Jisung takes the hand and shakes it, cheeks warm. “My name is Johan.” 

Changbin’s fingers tighten around his. “Ah-no, it’s not. Please don’t lie.” 

Jisung stares down at Changbin. Changbin stares back, the slightest hint of a frown gracing his pearly features. “If I tell you my real name,” Jisung murmurs, chest tight. “You absolutely cannot tell anyone else. Please,” he adds, wilting a little under the siren’s heavy gaze. 

“I agree,” Changbin says cheerfully, shaking Jisung’s hand twice. “Names are precious things, and it is a gift indeed that you would confide yours to me.” 

Jisung scoots forward, heart thumping. “My name is Han Jisung, but please call me Johan.” 

“A pleasure to meet you.” Changbin leans up until their noses are almost brushing. “I have been alive almost as long as this planet has, but I have never seen anything with eyes like yours before.” 

“It is… It’s an abnormality,” Jisung stammers, alarm and embarrassment mingling within him. “I’ve never been proud of it.” 

Changbin hums and leans away, taking his hand with him. “You should be. It makes you special, and Chan loves special things, doesn’t he?” 

“I suppose,” Jisung agrees, folding his hands in his lap. He wants to reach out and run a hand over Changbin’s spine. He thinks that Changbin might be stretching like that on purpose. “Does he love you, then?” 

“Oh, no.” Changbin says flippantly. “But I love him.” 

It’s like being punched in the abdomen multiple times. Jisung stares at him, breathless. “Sorry, you…?” 

“I love him,” Changbin repeats, and Jisung’s brain breaks for the second time that day. “He doesn’t believe me, though, so whenever I go out he gets scared and brings me back.” The siren laughs and slaps his tail against the surface of the pool, sending water droplets everywhere. “Silly boy. He still hasn’t caught on that I’m letting him catch me.” 

Jisung struggles to get his mouth to form vowels. “Eunha said-,” 

“Eunha is like Chan,” Changbin murmurs, frowning slightly and flipping over on his back. “She doesn’t understand, yet. She doesn’t know how to love. She can’t recognize it.” He glances over to Jisung. “Can you?” 

“I don’t know,” Jisung whispers, blood shivering in his ears. “I don’t think I’ve ever loved like that before.” 

“You will,” Changbin promises, voice low and gaze dark. Jisung holds his breath, unable to look away. The siren looks away and yawns. “Anyhow! What is it that you’d like to know, Jisung?”    
It’s nice to have someone- even a siren- speak his real name again. Jisung takes a deep breath. “Seungmin said something about a mission?” 

Changbin fiddles with one of the glass beads in his hair. “All of man has a mission. I’m assuming you’re asking about Chan’s, yes?” Jisung nods. “It’s very simple. Chan wants to steal immortality so that he can right the wrongs both he and his family have committed. We’re all just along for the ride.” 

“How do you steal immortality?” 

Changbin shrugs, impossibly nonchalant. “It’s easy. You kill a god.” 

Jisung laughs, incredulous. “That’s not _easy_ at all. It can’t be done!” 

Gods, old and new, are nigh impossible to hunt down and find- and the price for killing them is impossible for mortals to afford. Depending on who is doing the killing, it’s essentially familicide. The monarch marks on Jisung’s skin tingle. 

Changbin smiles, slow and sweet, and shakes his head. “It can be, if you’ve done if before.” 

It hits Jisung, then:  _ Chan has killed a god.  _

Is that what gave him his ability to change forms? Is that why, earlier, Hyunjin had muttered something about Chan not being the  _ same?  _ A memory dislodges from the back of his brain and hits the tip of his tongue. 

(  _ Lady Han steps in front of the vase of flowers, effectively capturing Jisung’s attention once again. “What did I just say?”  _

_ Jisung’s ten year old mind scrambles. “We- we were talking about gods.”  _

_ Exasperation shows itself in the faint crow’s feet around his mother’s eyes. “Elaborate.”  _

_ Jisung wrinkles his nose and fiddles with the loose fabric of his  _ saal.  _ “The gods are our ancestors,” he rattles off, “and what separates them from us is their ability to see through time and use that knowledge of time to become imm-imma-,”  _ _   
_ _ “Immortal,” Lady Han finishes for him. “Good. Now, tell me: how do gods die, then?”  _

_ Jisung looks up at her, confused. “They can’t.”  _

_ “Oh,” Lady Han says, “But they can.” ) _

“Gods have… a sticking place,” Jisung says haltingly. “A spot on their bodies that is more present and physical than the rest. If you manage to cut through that-,” 

“No more god,” Changbin agrees. “See? Simple.” 

“In theory,” Jisung mutters, and Changbin grins. “ _ Why  _ is he doing this, though?  _ What  _ did Chan do?” 

“Everyone has a story,” Changbin says after a brief pause. “They are not mine to tell.” 

Jisung looks away from those yellow, yellow eyes. “I don’t think he’d ever  tell me. He hates me, you know.”  _ And I don’t blame him.  _ The  _ Blackbird  _ was put into danger because of him. Khadra’s gold-tipped grin slides into view, causing Jisung to scowl. 

“The hearts of men are easily swayed,” Changbin purrs. “You’d be surprised what a few kind words can do.” 

“Maybe from you,” Jisung counters. “You have so much magic I can barely think straight.” 

At this, Changbin straightens up, the spikes on his lower back pricking up. “You can sense it?” 

“I can  _ taste  _ it,” Jisung complains. “It’s like metal and burnt sugar.” He can feel the weight of Changbin’s eyes on him, heavy and calculating, and wonders if he’s said something to offend the siren. 

“May I try something?” 

Jisung eyes him warily. “I suppose it depends on what that  _ something  _ is.” 

“I want to try some of your blood,” Changbin says bluntly, and Jisung chokes. “You shouldn’t be able to sense any of my magic, and with your eyes like that… well, I want to see what you  _ really  _ are.” 

“I’m  _ human!”  _ Jisung squeaks, more than a little offended. “How is you biting me like some kind of  _ leech  _ going to determine anything?” 

Changbin’s eyes flash a brilliant purple. “Because, in the beginning, I was the one who helped man create  _ fire.  _ I have seen civilizations rise and fall, and I am second only to the gods. I am more magic than I am anything else.” 

Changbin is dangerous. Jisung has spent perhaps twenty minutes with the siren, and he already knows this. He is dangerous, but he doesn’t seem  _ cruel,  _ so Jisung relents and holds out his wrist, stomach churning. 

The siren tilts his head. Something in the way he looks at Jisung makes him feel transparent, see-through, like the spun sugar swans that Cook would use to decorate cakes with. It makes Jisung feel terribly, terribly exposed. He takes the proffered wrist and, very delicately, bites down. 

It doesn’t hurt, but Jisung feels cold- colder than he’s ever been before. Something like frost creeps up his arm, so frigid that it burns. Behind that, there is the familiar blue-black feeling of loneliness. He wants to cry out, but Changbin is already drawing away, face screwed up. “You taste terrible.” 

Jisung rubs his wrist. “My apologies.” 

Changbin wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “No, that’s good. Probably. Has your mother ever lain with a centau?.” 

“...No. Are centaurs real?” 

Changbin squints up at him. “ _ Are _ they?” 

“ _ What are you two doing down here?”  _

Changbin and Jisung fall silent. 

“ _ Sorry, captain, ”  _ Felix squeaks, voice muffled by the door. “ _ We were just, uh,”  _

_ “-Having a private conversation,”  _ Eshe fills in. She’s a terrible liar. “ _ We didn’t want anyone to hear us?”  _

Changbin points at a row of barrels in the far corner of the room. “Go hide behind those. I don’t think that Chan will be in the mood to find us conspiring against him.” 

Jisung does as he’s told. “We weren’t conspiring- were we?” 

Changbin winks at him, throwing him completely off guard. “Of course not. You’re fun to play with, Han Jisung.” 

The door clicks open. Jisung ducks behind one of the barrels, heart pounding erratically. If Chan finds him, he’s done for. He remembers Chan hugging him and flushes.  _ Maybe not.  _

“Hello,” Changbin says quietly, so quiet that Seungmin has to strain to hear. “I heard that you’ve gotten yourself into quite the mess.” 

“It’s not  _ me,”  _ Chan whines-  _ whines!  _ “The little birdie goes wherever he pleases.” 

“Just like me,” Changbin laughs, voice warm and amused. “Come here.” 

Jisung takes this as his chance to creep out of the room without the Wolf noticing. The door is still slightly ajar, and he carefully tiptoes towards it, mindful of creaky floorboards. For reasons he cannot explain, he pauses at the door, fingertips ghosting the doorknob, and casts a look over his shoulder. 

Changbin is kissing Chan, or maybe Chan is kissing Changbin- but either way, they’re kissing, and Jisung maybe makes a startled noise because they look oddly  _ right  _ together, Changbin’s hands tangled in Chan’s curls and Chan’s tanned hands a stark contrast against the siren’s milky skin. 

The problem is that he makes a _noise_ , causing Chan to break away from the kiss and stare at Jisung, cheeks red and lips swollen.    


“Uh,” Jisung says eloquently. Changbin smiles like he’s been  _ planning  _ this and tilts his head. 

“Little birdie,” Chan says slowly, voice hoarse and eyes dazed, “You certainly do have a bad habit of showing up in places you’re not supposed to be in, don’t you?” 

Changbin smiles coyly and wraps his fingers around Chan’s bicep. “I don’t know, Chan. I kind of  _ like _ it.” 

For the first time in a long time, Jisung turns and runs, motivated by something that isn’t fear. 

»————-　♔　————-««

Hundreds and hundreds of miles away, a man almost four days without sleep breathes in fresh, slightly smokey air. 

”Milord. Your cousin is here to see you.” 

Taehyung turns around, hands gripping the marble ledge of the balcony tightly. “Is he? Please send him in.” The maidservant dips her head, bows, and leaves the room. Taehyung smiles grimly and turns back to the balcony. 

From here, he can see the line of the island as it kisses the sea, a long, curving crescent. It’s beautiful. As a child, Taehyung loved this balcony, because it was just  _ so  _ pretty and he could see his aunt’s castle if he squinted. 

Now, he squints, and can’t see it. Because it's gone.

The door creaks open. Footsteps slide over the plush carpet. “Hello, cousin.” 

Taehyung grinds his teeth together and turns around. “I know you,” he says smoothly, “But you are not Han Jisung. You are  _ not  _ my cousin.” 

Kal Johan smiles thinly and adjusts  _ Jisung’s  _ golden coronet. “Oh, I know. But the people don’t, so I’ll just have to do for now, won’t I?” 

_ Ah, Jisung,  _ Taehyung thinks, fighting back the shiver that always, always follows his bouts of rage,  _ please come home soon.  _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wolves and sirens and guardsmen, oh my!
> 
> aaaaaaand enter changbin from stage left! the slow burn quickens. probably.
> 
> hope u enjoyed, feel free to yell at me on:   
> [ twt ](https://twitter.com/seungbiin)  
> [ cc ](https://curiouscat.me/spearbis)


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